Possession
by thesolitaryone
Summary: Jo Harvelle has has made a secret deal and needs to rely on a powerful demon to get her out of it. But what happens when he wants something more? Jo/Crowley and all sorts of wickedness. AU/Smut/Awesomeness x 1,000. Rating bumped to M after chapter 11.
1. Right Down to Hell

Note: I do not own any of the characters in this fic. I just borrowed them, played around with them, and tossed them back into the heap.

This is _not_ a one shot.

* * *

_**Prelude**_

The pain was unbearable; her entire insides seemed to be on fire. This surpassed the notion of pain. In fact, in comparison, pain would be a welcome vacation. She was going to die and she knew it; there was no lucky escape this time. It seemed almost anti-climactic; after everything she had been through, all the deals and sacrifices she had made, this was how death would greet her. It was ironic that the very end she was bargaining to avoid was the very end she was facing.

And yet, it was too impossible to be a coincidence that hellhounds would surface on this day, of this year. Despite the apparently very-intact bounty on her life she would rather go to hell on her own terms than be dragged there by Lucifer's most vile gatekeepers.

Unbearable pain fused with anger and betrayal and the sense that the past three years of her life had been thoroughly wasted.

A dark figure watched as hell hounds burst through the doors, and an explosion claimed the lives of two brave women lying defeated on the floor.

In a whisper so silent not even the Gods could hear, the dark figure spoke

"_Methinks, by most, 'twill be confess'd_

_That Death is never quite a welcome guest."_

Along with the lives of the two women on the floor, the dark figure vanished into nothingness.

Jo Harvelle was killed on November 19, 2009.

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Right down to hell you'll go**_

Jo had a secret. One she had been keeping for seven years. But now, finally separated from the hawke-like gaze of her loving yet relentless mother, she had the chance to make amends. Or at the very least fight her way out of it.

It was the seventh anniversary of her deal with the Crossroads Demon which supplied her with the motivation to finally leave. It was not like she didn't love her mother, in fact the complete opposite, it was just she wouldn't understand. If it came down to the wire, and her soul was still in the possession of a demon in two years time, she would confess and beg for her mother to not simply kill her first to save time. But that was an extreme last resort; it was her mess, and up to her alone to clean it up.

If being the protégée of the owner of a bar catering to an ever-changing clientele of skilled hunters had taught her anything, it was the value of a good sleep-in. Well that was her opinion these days, where her noisy Duluth neighbour who for some ridiculous reason never seemed to rest was blasting music at 7am. Still, sleep wasn't preferable at this point; her nightmares, once scarce and spasmodic had become clockwork, and she was not in the mood to revisit them until absolutely necessary. In any case, she had a plan to draw up, and a specific demon to hunt down.

It didn't take long; through the years living at the Roadhouse she picked up tips here and there about this specific kind of demon, and how to deal with it when things get nasty. However long seven years had felt it had definitely not been wasted, and her patience had proven most educational.

17 hours hours later, Jo found herself at the same old gravel covered cross road she was at just over seven years ago. The night was ominously dark; the only source of light came from the high-beam headlights on her car, and she prayed the battery won't die out on her. It was best if this was done as fast as possible.

Everything was set in place, completely out of sight. If ever there was a time to act, this was it. She walked over to what seemed the very centre, and buried the same card tin she had before, albeit with an updated picture. A chill descended on the abandoned stretch of road, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the headlights flicker and knew immediately it had worked. A slight flutter of material sounded behind her, and she spun around to greet the creature.

'Nice night for it,' he said, looking directly at her.

'You've changed,' she stated bluntly. Where there stood a handsome fourteen year old for their last encounter, it appeared he had grown into an even greater looking young man.

'So have you,' he drawled. There was a silence. 'I don't know why you have summoned me. The only change I can make on our deal is coming to collect early.'

'I know,' she replied. He stared at her, and started forward.

'Curious. Alright I'll bite. Then why have you summoned me? Wanting to make a heart-felt plea for your life?' He smirked. He was three metres away, and closing the gap too fast for her taste.

'Your contracts...' she started, stepping backwards over the mound of gravel enclosing her offering.

'Hmmm?'

'I know someone keeps them. I want you to tell me who.' Her voice was steady, affecting a confidence she did not have. He thought for a moment and chuckled.

'See now I just don't think that's going to happen.' He was still walking towards her. As she stepped backwards she eyed the small black stone on the floor to her left.

'See now I think, it is.' She jumped back. His attempt to follow saw him flung back to the centre of what appeared to be nothing but road. Smirking, Jo kicked a heap of gravel, including the black marker stone off the corner of a large piece of cardboard bearing a bright red Devil's Trap. He eyed her horribly, and she brushed it off. He wasn't going anywhere until she got some answers.

'Amateur mistake. Here I am disappointed with your lack of homework. Did you really think I would come here without some form of protection?' She asked with a confidence she no longer needed to affect.

'I'm not telling you anything.' She reached into her pocket and withdrew a hip flask. His screams could not mask the horrible hissing sound emitting from his skin as the holy water splashed over his entire body. Her lip curled.

'Now I don't much like that answer. You see, I have all night, and you'll find I can be quite... imaginative... when it comes to getting answers from demons.'

'You stupid bitch. Do you _really_ think that I would survive if I told you _anything_?' He spat, his skin still burning.

'Well, let's just see how far we can get.' She emptied the rest of the flask on him, ignoring his nightmarish groaning. A second later she walked into the surrounding scrub, appearing from behind a dying rose bush with a hessian bag filled with salt. He eyed it fearfully. Wasting no time, she untied the opening and threw it upon him. His screams echoed through the dark night. It was interesting how human demons can be when faced with the certainty of death.

'Are you ready to talk yet?' She asked. He spat at her. 'Very well,' she pulled from her back pocked a slip of paper and began to read

'_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica,' _she could hear his insides tearing apart '_potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii-_'

'_WAIT_. Stop! Lilith! Her name is Lilith!' He screamed.

'_How_ do I know you're not _lying_!' She started again with the exorcism.

'_NO_! I'm not lying. I swear. It's Lilith, she holds the contracts. We _all_ answer to her. She's-' He was cut off. Suddenly his insides glowed white hot.

'No. No, _PLEASE_. Please, she made me!' A moment later he burst into flame, leaving behind nothing but a scorch mark and a human outline of table salt.

'Well, I guess that's my confirmation.' She concluded apathetically to herself, stepping over the gravel burns pausing only to spit on the floor. Exhilarated by the success of the evening, she clambered back into the car; thanking God the headlights hadn't drained the battery. Her confidence drained quickly, however, and the drive home made her uneasy. She knew things were to change from now on. She couldn't expect to get away scot-free knowing the name to one of what could only be one of the most powerful demons in existence. Well, one step down, about a hundred to go. Maybe she was in over her head.

Just as the thought passed through her mind a series of events passed in quick succession. A flash of white light and a deafening _thud_ made her jam her foot on the brake. Just up ahead a statuesque dark figure stood in the middle of the road, and she realised the car wasn't stopping fast enough; she was going to hit whatever it was. She lunged the wheel to the left in an attempt to avoid the figure, and crashed into telegraph pole. The air-bag spilled out and shielded her head from cracking onto the steering wheel. Thankfully, as far as she could tell, she wasn't injured. Scared out of her mind, she opened the door and spilled out of the car.

Immediately she could see in the distance the thick tree trunk which had been thrown onto her car in an attempt to gain her attention. However the figure was nowhere to be seen. Confused, she reached into the back seat for her sawed-off filled with salt rounds and held it to her front. The night was ice cold, and there was a good chance she had concussion.

'You know you shouldn't be driving alone this late at night, it's incredibly unsafe.' The voice was thick with an English accent. She registered the male voice and concluded it more than likely wasn't Lilith. A mixture of relief and fear washed over her. If this wasn't Lilith, who was it?

'Especially for someone as lovely looking as yourself.' She spun around, he was right behind her. She aimed the gun at his face.

'Who are you?' She asked, finding courage she didn't know she had.

'Name's Crowley. And you're a Harvelle, am I right?' She nodded. He smirked. 'You'll find I'm rather good with names.'

Not interested in the typical human/demon exchange, she continued, 'What the bloody hell do you want?'

'Mind your language my dear. And alas I think it is you who wants something from me. A little birdie told me you want your soul back.' She nodded.

'I was told Lilith held the contracts.'

'Yes, well let's just say I too hold the key to the vault.'

'I want it. Now,' she threatened, cocking the gun.

'Hmmmmm. No. See I don't think that's going to work for me.' He drawled. She registered her immediate dislike of him. The gun fired, hitting him square on the chest. He was thrown backwards, landing with an almighty _bang_. He rose instantly.

'Watch the suit! You know Armani doesn't come cheap?'

'What do you want then, if you are not here to negotiate?'

'Oh but I have come to negotiate,' she raised her eyebrows inquisitively; 'I've come to negotiate new terms of your deal.' He walked towards her, and near-whispered into her ear, 'you stop searching for retribution from us, and I won't come to collect your soul three years early, Har-velle.' He finished, patronisingly. She blinked and he was gone.

She turned around and faced the car. The headlights were still on, but the car was totalled and so was left with no option but to call a cab. She was scared; scared out of her mind. This was the response she was expecting, but not the one she wanted. She was also curious as to why she hadn't heard of Lilith of Crowley from any of the hunters; if they were big up-and-comers, surely some word would have gotten out? Obviously not; demons do a tendency to be habitually wily.

She got home, exhausted but knowing she would not be able to sleep. Instead she found her bottle of sleeping tablets, fished out three, and chased them with a shot of bourbon. The night had been long, and she wanted to chalk it down to a terrifying nightmare. Checking her apartment was securely warded from all hellish evil, she stripped to her underwear and fell onto her bed, falling asleep immediately.

She did not notice the dark figure watching her from the fire escape.

* * *

A/N: Props go out to Faust for the chapter title (along with the rest of the chapters)

Many-a chapters to come people.

R & R!

-thesolitaryone-


	2. A Part of Darkness

_**Chapter 2: A Part of Darkness**_

Jo Harvelle was not one to succumb to the threats of mortal danger, despite her intentions to weave her way into it purposely. She knew there were things more important than death. Family. Friendship. Loyalty. She never felt indifferent to darkness, she had been raised it in. Her mother never shied away from the concept, and never placed a proverbial spin on reality, even if she did want something more than... this... for her child. Alas, decisions, decisions...

Jo rose from a turbulent slumber to the steady vibrations of her neighbour's music. 7am on the dot. Although this was a welcome alarm clock; she was on open at the bar, and it would not do to be late. She approached the mirror and assessed her features; there was a dark circle under her left eye and a small cut on her forehead surrounded by crusted blood. Considering the wreck of her car, she was satisfied with the lack of physical consequence. She ignored the rising hatred in her stomach for that ass-of-a-demon and the bother she would have to endure to get a new car. That and the pit of dread that was her assured death and eternal vacation on Earth's hottest underground continent.

Something caught her attention behind her and she whipped around. She was greeted with nothing but the outdated fashions on her bathroom wall, but the sense of being watched lingered. As a precaution, she double checked the wards around her house. Everything appeared normal, yet she was still uneasy. Life around hunters, along with the events of the previous night convinced her she wasn't insane.

But there was nothing she could do about that now. Already she was running late, and now that she had to rely on taxis..

* * *

She was thrown against the wall, and could feel her already fragile head crack against the rough stone. Collapsing on a head on the floor, she felt as though her body was going to rip apart. Forcing herself up, she pulled a stake from her handbag and hid it behind her back.

She never saw the vampire, but could feel its presence. _Damnit, I thought I got them all._

Something grabbed her neck and forced her to the floor. She lost her grip and the stake rolled an unknown distance away. The vampire jumped on top of her, pinning her down and staring directly into her eyes. He was oddly unattractive, and his breath, so close to her face, smelt like congealed blood. Hoping there was enough human left in him to feel some masculine pain, she kneed him directly in his groin, and he fell sideways gasping for air. She smirked and ran to pick up the stake.

As she closed in on him, he turned, bared his teeth and made an attempt for her throat, but she was faster. The stake pierced his skin effortlessly, and he screamed out in pain. Not caring who or what found him in this darkened alley behind the bar, she fetched her handbag and quickly made for her apartment. The day had been long and fearsome enough without the ambush of a very unwelcome vampire.

Hunting was exhilarating, satisfying, therapeutic among other pleasuresome adjectives, but it was also draining, tiring. She can't remember when if ever she got a good night's sleep. Life, these days, taxed her of every emotion she had.

'I've reconsidered,' came an unwanted voice behind her. Why do they always have to appear when her back is turned? Dramatic effect? _Demons!_ When the pause extended past the hope for a continuation, she replied, 'not planning on elaborating?'

'The situation is delicate. Unprecedented. I'm still not entirely sure if you're worth it, Har-velle.'

'My _name_ is Joanna.'

'I was being condescending.'

'_Jackass_,' she whispered to herself. This one's ego appeared to be particularly inflated.

Ignoring her, he continued, 'perhaps I need more persuasion. Tell me, why do we find ourselves in this little predicament anyway?' He stepped closer to her. Frozen to the spot, and already up against a wall, she did not move.

'You mean, why did I sell my soul?' His eyebrows lifted in feint curiosity. He already knew the answer, and the question would have purely been asked as a means to torture her. However, she knew she wasn't in the position to remain silent. 'My mother, she came off badly after a fight with a Werewolf.'

'So, your mother, one of the most skilled hunters alive, got sloppy enough to turn her back on a Werewolf?' He was still walking forward. 'Really?'

'I disobeyed and came to fight with her. Sh-She turned her back to help me.'

'Ah. I never understood the human attachment to family. Mine definitely left something to be desired...' he stopped, turned and admired the surroundings. 'Nice place you've got here,' he walked to the television and admired the thick layer of dust resting on top, 'that was sarcasm by the way. This is a hole. Got anything to drink?' She ignored him.

'I'm getting bored of this exchange in conversation. How did you get in here?'

'Getting clumsy you are. Bathroom window was left open. Didn't take much to blow the salt out of the way. You might want to remember that now Mum's not here to keep watch.' There was another pause. She couldn't figure out if she feared him or was generally annoyed at the bastard.

'If you don't plan on renegotiating then-'

'Oh but I do. I have a ... proposition ... for you,' he was right up against her now. She met her gaze with a ruthlessness to match his own. 'I will tear up the contract you made seven years ago, _only_ if you agree to hand your soul to me, all specs included etcetera etcetera.'

'And what-'

'Basically you're soul will remain in my property up to the point of which you pass on, of natural or unnatural causes of course, and because I'm feeling exceptionally generous, I'll even return your soul when said day comes.' The fallacy of this proposition actually made her laugh.

'I'm not joking.' He retorted, looking bored at her lack of composition.

'You actually expect me to fall for that? How arrogant you must be.'

'I'm not going to make this offer again. Either you accept it, or you don't. I have better things to do than wait for the answer of some spoiled 21 year old'.

'Why?'

'I have my reasons.'

'Not good enough.'

'Let's just say I'm curious. You're an unusual one, Harvelle.'

His answer still did not satisfy her, 'you're going to have to do better than that.'

'Now I simply don't care. I hold the bargaining chip here, remember?'

She stared at him, unbelieving. There has to be a catch; there's always a catch.

'What will happen to me? You will expect some payment I assume,' She asked, and in reply to his silence, continued, 'I deserve to know that much.' He considered her question. He spoke next with an air of someone choosing their words very carefully.

'You get to live your life to the fullest extent ... possible ... as you please. And if I say, required your hunting services or whatnot some point along the line, you would be most happy to oblige.' He said. She wasn't convinced.

'I don't know.' He sighed.

'Going once...' she stared. Was he really playing this game?

'Going twice... last chance.' Was she game enough? Every bone in her body knew this was the wrong decision, but really, would it be worse than getting dragged to hell? _And_ she would get her soul back before she died.

'Fine. But I want it codified.'

'Not necessary. Besides, you just agreed.' He moved forward towards her and gently grabbed her neck.

'Wait, what?'

'You know how this works, darling,' he sneered. Without hesitance, or warning he kissed her deeply and purposefully. Perhaps if the situation had been different, and _he_ had been different, she would have enjoyed it. Instead, all her brain registered was distaste for the man kissing her more intensely than anyone had in her entire life. After what seemed a lifetime, he let her go and stared at her with an inquisitive look in his gaze. Perhaps he was being truthful; perhaps he was just curious.

Or, perhaps not.

He waved his hand and a deep chill enveloped the room. Suddenly her skin felt of fire, and small cuts opened themselves up all over her body. She never imagined the term "written in her own blood" could be so relevant. A few lines were moved around, some disappeared, and the blood eventually faded. It was all over quickly, and she could not keep the scepticism out of her eyes as she glared at him.

'That's it? The deal's off?'

'That's it.' But something didn't fit.

'You told me you weren't going to codify the new deal. I obviously still have a contract tied to my soul,' she retorted, staring at the now empty skin on her forearms.

'I told you I wasn't going to codify the conditions of our arrangement. You're soul is mine, _that_ has been codified, but in terms of the services,' he smirked, 'well, they're up to interpretation.'

Her anger became terror as she allowed his words to wash over her.

'You really don't know how foolish you are, Har-velle.'

* * *

A/N: Again, props go to Goethe's Faust for the title. It really is quite fitting given the story.

Comment, Rate, Appreciate!

-thesolitaryone-


	3. No Worldly Honor Rank or Pleasure

_**Chapter 3: No Worldly Honour, Rank or Pleasure**_

Oh how she longed for a simpler life. You know, the days where cutting off a drunk hunter at the bar seemed about as dangerous as life got.

Now she stood in front of an ego-centric demon who owned her soul at an unknown cost until death did them part. Words couldn't describe the horrible sensations flooding her stomach. She wanted to storm at him in a fit of rage, and yet simultaneously slip into the foetal position for the rest of her (literally) God-forsaken life. Her hands had curled into fist balls so tight her nails were piercing through skin. At least it was distracting her from the incessant need to throw up.

What on earth did he _mean_? Foolish for entering into a deal to save her life? She was given an ultimatum to decide, and so she took the only route which had the capacity of saving her from a one-way trip into hell. And now he calls _her_ foolish for deciding before hearing the details? Typical demon. Typical, vile, manipulative demon. Given the option, she would sell her soul right now to have the fabled Colt in her hands, if only to empty a bullet into the back of his disgusting brain. The bastard.

'You owe me an explanation. Now.'

'No, I'm afraid I don't.'

'Oh, you don't?' She asked in mock assent. 'You _don't_? You just sentenced me to a life of servile... _innuendo_... and you don't think I-'

His smug air evaporated immediately. Apparently he didn't enjoy being yelled at.

'-I'm sorry to disappoint you _sweetheart_, but you willingly entered a deal – with a _demon_ I might add – to bind your soul to me, and you expect it to come up all hearts and roses? Instead of _testing_ my limits it would be in your best interests to settle your stubborn ass down and _DO AS I SAY_!'

'You perfidious asshole,' she spat. He looked at her, calmer.

'Sit down.' It wasn't a request, it was a command. She felt compelled to obey. Automatically she felt an unseen force pull her into the armchair to her left. The thought scared her out of her mind; what had she agreed to?

'Now if you'll calm down-'

'You expect me to be _CALM_! When-'

'_SILENCE_!' The words were taken from her mouth as she felt her throat close around her. Tears stung her eyes as the overwhelming permanency of the situation sunk in. For lack of a more appropriate phrase, she had sentenced herself to be a demon's bitch until the day she died. She suddenly longed for her contract back. At least then the final years of her life could be spent with family, friends and the people she loved. Not like this, not under the command of a _demon_.

'Hell, are you _crying_?' He asked, distaste crossing his face. 'I _hate_ it when they cry.' Jo was still unable to speak; the tears just spilled unashamedly down her cheeks.

'I know it sounds cliché, but how about I go through the monologue? Sit tight,' he chuckled, 'well, it's not like you're going anywhere.'

'You agreed to bind your soul to me. This isn't your usual run-of-the-mill Crossroads deal. More like a, ah, willing surrender of control.' She shot a scornful look at him. 'What do you expect love?' He raised his arms, 'demon? It appears you forgot that.'

'You arouse a certain level of intrigue. You're a curious one Harvelle, how you abandoned your homely ties to fix your little mess. I'd expect your mother and the Winchester Beach Boys would be more willing to lend a hand to your cause. A foolish move if you ask me. Foolish, but curious.' She didn't react.

'Still, I'm feeling particularly generous today. How about you and I negotiate a few terms in this arrangement? As much as I enjoy the idea of a servant, I would rather our relationship be, for lack of less lascivious terminology, _consensual_, if all else. You may speak.' Ironically she found she had nothing to say.

'You would prefer to remain in servitude? I will consider _that_ consent if you will.'

'I would prefer nothing less. If it were my choice I would revoke any deal I made with you at all.'

'See that's not an option.'

'I _realise_ that,' she spat, 'but I would like to negotiate an agreement where I retain _full_ control from you. If you need me for my hunting prowess I will oblige, but nothing you command of me will be binding. Do you agree?' She offered, nervous yet gradually calming down. He was clearly not interested in hurting her.

'Yes, to an extent. But I think you already know I entered this deal with other intentions.' He was right. She did know, but since this witty exchange of banter began she was hoping she was wrong. But she refused to speak first. Sensing her hesitation, he continued, 'let's just say the phrase "for a lack of less lascivious terminology" was a slight distortion. I meant it; in every sense. You know... demon and all.'

She turned away, still unable to move from the chair.

'Do I have a choice here?'

'Not unless you want to retain _this_ status quo.' She shook her head, unable to comprehend the decision she felt she was coerced into making. Her look turned from borderline trusting to disgusted once again.

Noticing this, he added, 'you must know by now, my dear, that power is inescapable. It is part of every single interaction, whether you notice it or not; either you have it, or your opponent does. I am merely trying to restore the balance of power here. It is up to you to take the egalitarian or more... _authoritative _road. Believe me when I say I'm being uncommonly generous.'

She turned away from him; his eyes were too piercing, too omniscient for her liking.

The minutes ticked by. He didn't move, neither did she. And yet, inside her mind thoughts were racing at a hundred ks an hour.

_Am I up for this? Can I really fathom the idea of what he is proposing?_

_You don't have a choice girl; you either give your consent or go against your will_.

_Yes, but at least if it was non-consensual I would not have to live with the shame of finding myself in ... _certain ..._ positions by choice._

_Would you really prefer that though? Would that really be a barrier against shame? You know you'd feel worse if you surrendered all control in such situations._

_It all comes down to two choices: To be coerced into acts I detest, or to willingly walk into them._

She turned to Crowley and found herself nodding. He waved his arm and she felt able to move from the chair.

'Very well then, if you don't mind-'

'No, we haven't finished yet love. I just released you from my command to sit down. We haven't sealed or _unsealed_ the deal yet I'm afraid.'

At least this time she knew what was coming, and could attempt to get some form of pleasure out of it. He walked forward and roughly kissed her. It was animalistic, raw and exceedingly dexterous. She grabbed his hair, unconsciously pulling him deeper into the kiss, letting off an involuntary moan into his mouth. As he pulled away she felt the undesirable, unwanted, unwelcome need for one simple thing: _more._

This thought was quickly pushed from her mind as the scars opened up on her skin again, and the lines of words drawn in her blood shone in the dim light. Again, certain lines were thrown around, with some vanishing from sight. Seconds later, they sunk back into her skin, and she felt a tension lift from her shoulders. Immediately she knew it had worked.

'Well then, I guess I best be on my way then.' She was confused. She thought there was something else he would have needed to seal the deal.

'I thought-'

'My my, a bit eager aren't we?' He retorted, smirking.

'_No_. I simply assumed you would have expected some form of _payment_.' She replied pointedly. _God_ he knew how to push her buttons.

'Not tonight love.' He winked. 'I'll be in touch.'

Suddenly she was alone in her small apartment. The odd feeling she had felt over the past day of being watched disappeared immediately with him. Obviously this is what he was after all along. She didn't know whether or not to be disgusted or relieved. She was free of her deal, but at what cost? To bed with the devil himself? Life had taken a dramatic and unforseen turn she did not know she was comfortable with.

'The Devil is an egoist I know,' she recounted to herself, sighing; she should be thankful that _this_ devil had shown her some form of kindness. It had been a long night.

Registering how overwhelmingly tired she was, she changed into her pyjamas (taking special care to close _all _windows as an extra precaution against unknown Peeping-Toms) and fell onto the bed.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to the fabulous Goethe for the title.

Also, the quote "_The Devil is an egoist I know_" is an abbreviation of "_The Devil is an egoist I know: And, for Heaven's sake, 'tis not his way, Kindness to anyone to show" _said by Faust. I use it here because it describes Crowley to a T: An egotistical demonic bastard. Yeah, that's him.

Also, I might add, I started the story with the Prelude because I don't want people to think that _this_ Crowley is a nice person. As will be discovered later on, showing mercy is very different to being _nice_. He's a dick. Plain and simple.

I'll also add a forewarning: This is the last of the pre-written chapters. I have every plot line worked out (and believe me, I'm going to be throwing these characters around the bloody twist), but this will be the last update for a while. Although, if people are enjoying it, I can make myself write faster... *hint hint*

Feedback is like crack to authors. You'd know; 99% of all you _are_ authors.

-thesolitaryone-


	4. Neither can Devil nor Hell now Appall me

_**Chapter 4: Neither can Devil nor Hell now appall me**_

Well this was anticlimactic.

It had been four weeks; _four weeks_ of worrying, fretting, hating herself for getting into this sordid mess. Regret can take time to develop, and by this point it was so deeply set in it reached her very soul. A run-in two weeks ago with the so-named "Meg Masters" demon and the Winchester brothers had reinjected her with the fear and mistrust she _should _have felt when dealing with a particular piece of demonic garbage. Crowley. She couldn't even think of him without cringing.

She went through the five stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Or, at least the first four; she was pretty sure she wasn't ready to leave her dark hole of depression and move towards acceptance. It was too soon, and this whole freaking situation too vile.

Still, _four bloody weeks_! At least get a move on; life as a hunter was worrying enough without having to deal with a less-than-charming gentleman caller who may or may not pop in at any given moment.

And everything was made worse, so much worse, by that second kiss. Oh dear _God_ that second kiss! She didn't know if it was a play by him for a purpose more sinister, or her imagination running wild on her, or him genuinely showing passion, but it was amazing. It was hard to admit, but you can't deny the truth, especially if it's a preview of what's to come...

If she was going to be forced into the situation, she may as well enjoy herself.

She registered the dull thud that was her neighbour's music chiming in. 7am on the dot, and another sleepless night to add to the tally. These days no amount of Red Bull could chase away the dark circles under her eyes. A good night's sleep was a luxury she hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing...ever. Still, as she rose to apply a thin layer of concealing foundation to her lower eyelids, she figured it could be worse. Somehow.

At least Crowley wasn't-

There was a sharp bang on her bathroom window. Alarmed, she dropped the glass cylinder of makeup and heard it smash on the floor. Angrily, she shook the shards and splashes of brown liquid off her feet and threw open the bathroom curtains. Of _course_ it was Crowley. She glare at him, eyebrow raised, and hesitantly brushed the salt obstructing the window away, allowing him entry.

'We really should work out some other arrangement for your wards. I find it a bit insulting,' came a voice from behind her.

'I prefer to have control over what vermin I allow into my home'

He looked mildly amused at her wit, and reached into his jacket pocket for a slip of paper, handing it to her. She accepted it with a confused expression. Opening it revealed a name and address.

**_Thomas Wrileburg_**

**_51 Woodale Drive. Minneapolis_**

'Nice penmanship, does it come in men's?' He ignored her, and she continued, 'so what is this a demon? I'm guessing the time has ... finally ... come for you to utilise my hunting expertise.'

'It warms my heart to hear you've been sitting, pining for me to return, but that's not a demon. Human.' Not even registering his first quip, she scrunched up the slip of folded paper and threw it at him. A HUMAN! No. No crime could fit that punishment, and this was most certainly _not_ part of their arrangement.

'You actually think I'll kill a human? No. I'd rather off myself first. Go to hell,' she spat.

'You signed the deal-'

'-I signed _nothing_. If this is what you'll be having me do then I'm out. SO out. In fact, you can take that deal of yours,' she crept towards him pointing at his chest, 'and shove it up that pompous, pretentious English _arse_ of yours.'

'Just because you didn't sign your name in ink doesn't mean you're not contracted to act as I demand. A verbal contract is just as binding as any other in my line of work.' She slapped him, hard.

'Go. To. Hell.' She repeated through gritted teeth.

'I expect him dead by nightfall. If not, then I'll be taking you directly _to_ hell the next time I pay a visit. Good luck, Harvelle.' He was gone.

She grabbed her hair and growled in frustration. Looks like that's another day of work she'd be missing. Ass.

* * *

Luckily in the past month she'd been able to Winchester herself an old school '84 Ford Ranger. It was busted on the left and side and the exhaust needed to be replaced, but other than that the insides were in good nick, and the royal blue seemed to suit her in a way. Regardless, she felt comfortable in this car, despite the fact it wasn't hers and she had no intention of returning it to its original owners.

She didn't mind road trips. In fact she quite enjoyed them; they gave her time to think. Unfortunately, given her current circumstances, this two and a half hour drive brought to light the very worst of her thoughts and she felt an undesirable urge to get to Minneapolis as fast as possible. Although this _wasn't _possible considering her Ranger's inability to drive in excess of 65 mph without groaning under the unwanted strain.

Once Crowley left her apartment it took her about 30 seconds to realise she didn't even ask the bastard what this Thomas Wrileburg had done to warrant his death, and after 15 minutes of calling his name, making threats and screaming her voice hoarse she concluded he probably preferred it this way. Plausible deniability and all. The cowardly ass probably didn't want to be connected to the assassination and the lesser the information the better. She knew better not to rival it; there was indubitably some clause in her contract which ensured all jobs were completed quickly, quietly and anonymously. And besides, she'd rather imagine he'd been an utter shit in his life, killing babies and torturing small animals, than be enlightened on the truth, which knowing Crowley, could be something as insignificant as stealing a pencil from him as a child or something.

After what seemed a day and a half, she finally arrived. Thankfully the night of her accident she had left her GPS at home, and was able to locate the house with relative ease. However, considering the monstrous noise her illegally obtained car made when it finally grunted to a halt, she thought it best to park a good street away to avoid any premature alert of her presence.

The area was very straight laced. Or, as straight laced as Minneapolis can get. The house she was after was neat and organised, with little statues in the garden of fishing gnomes and naked cherubs. She never quite understood the desire to decorate a garden with such overt displays of senescence.

It was still daytime, and she decided it best to wait until nightfall. Likely no one was home, and it would not do to be caught breaking and entering. Marking the house, she went back to the truck to find a roadhouse to wait out the last hours of daylight.

Nighttime rolled around far too quickly. As an act of caution, she waited until almost midnight before returning to the marked house. Thankfully as well, seeing as the moment she peered into the lit living room of the Wrileburg's she saw a woman getting up, kissing her husband on the forehead, and retiring upstairs. He was alone, thank God, however she would need to be silent enough to not attract the attention of the wife.

She ventured to the back of the house, and noticed an open window leading to a darkened room adjacent to the occupied living area. Slender as she is, it was simple for her to twist her body through with little sound or frustration. However, as soon as she dropped to the floor, she felt sick. What little light was seeping into the room illuminated crosses on the wall, doilies on the table and a bible on the cabinet. These people were obviously religious. _He rapes children, he rapes children_, she repeated to herself in attempt to prevent her conscience getting the better of the situation.

Peering into the slightly ajar door, she looked at the man. He was in his 40s, with greying hair and a solid physique. His face was passive, perhaps permanently so, making this even harder. Looking closer she realised his entire outfit was black, from the shoes right up to the neck. Wait, no, except for a white slip...

She gasped to herself. That was an Amice! A fucking _Amice! _The man was a goddamn priest! Now it all started to make sense. Of _course_ Crowley wanted him dead, why would a demon _not_ want a priest dead? Still, why this one?

_He rapes alter boys, he rapes alter boys._

She closed her eyes, praying for the courage to go through with it. Then it dawned on her she was praying to God, for the courage to kill one if his chosen people. Wow. She settled with just not thinking, and pulled out her silenced handgun.

30 seconds later she was making for the truck at lightning speed, thankful it was over but disgusted with herself. His wife would realise in an hour, perhaps, that her husband's usual presence in their bed was absent and investigate. It would be best if Jo was halfway back to Duluth by then.

The side of the road whipped past her groaning car; 60, 65, 75 miles per hour; far more than the old girl could handle. It started to groan at her in frustration, but she did not notice. Every inch of her body was on fire; guilt licked her insides in a darkly perfidious way, and she could not handle even looking at her reflection in the car's rear view mirror. She felt used, broken.

Sooner then she would have liked, she saw the familiar glass artistry of her apartment windows and knew she was home. She found it difficult to exit the car, and force her way back up the stairs, back to reality. Still, courage from a seemingly spent conscience somehow pushed her out of the car seat and onto the concrete. As she fidgeted with the lock to open her old, tricky door, she was surprised at how thoroughly unsurprised she was to find Crowley waiting for her, whiskey in hand.

'Well done. And it only took you to what, midnight?' So painstakingly bored of his hilariously unfunny facade, she reached for her flask of holy water attached to her belt, hurling its contents at him. He vanished before it hit, saturating the settee in the exact spot the bastard had just vacated. She didn't really expect it to hit, but her anger at least felt partially satiated.

'Do that again and you'll find yourself missing a few layers of _your_ skin.' He warned from behind her.

'You had me kill a priest.' She stated through gritted teeth. Her even tone did not disguise her soul-deep anger.

'Excuse me, I had every right to set this bounty. I believe as part of our contract, if I required your hunting skills, I damn well got them.'

'Yes, for killing the occasional vampire or demon who pissed you off, but he was a _good_ man, with a _good_ family. I didn't sign up for is.'

'I grow weary of contradiction, love. Are we going to have this argument every time I send you after a mark, or are you going to shut your mouth and _do the job you've been hired to do_! You _do _realise this isn't your average deal? You _do _realise what I have put on the line for you? Now, you either keep your _morals_ and _opinions_ to yourself, or I sent your soul straight to hell right now.' She pursed her lips, but did not counter his argument.

'So why? Why the priest hmm? And why me of aaallll your little cronies? What, couldn't find someone game enough? Surely I'm not the only one you've bound to this sort of contract.'

'First, mind your damn business, I'm not going to tell you. Second, refer to the first, and third,' he paused, choosing his words carefully, 'you are, in fact, the only person I have _ever_ held in this form of contract.'

'You mean to tell me, that I'm the first human you've ever made your little demon bitch?' She asked, disbelievingly.

'Don't flatter yourself sweetheart. You're the first deal-damned soul I've been able to extract hunting services from. Hunters as willing as you aren't easy to come by.' She again felt disgusted at herself. So she was the first hunter to sell their soul to be a demon slave? Doesn't surprise her.

'Well, if there's nothing else, I best be on my way. Expect company tomorrow night.' At her worried look, he continued, 'don't worry sunshine, no priest or any other being killing required.' At her continuing look of worry, he smirked.

'Until tomorrow evening then. Wear black.'

And he was gone.

Even the thumping music next door could not mask her scream of frustration.

* * *

_A/N_

_-If you were expecting smut, apologies, but it is on the way._

_-Again, hip hip hoorrray! to Goethe for the title._

_-Did you catch the reference to her part in Season 2's "Born Under a Bad Sign"? I'm trying to make the continuity as honest as possible._

_-Also, a lesson in "Possession" linguistics; _Winchester: To act in a way befitting of the Winchester brothers. In this instance, stealing shit that isn't yours _(as referenced when Jo "Winchestered" her car)._

_-Also, this story is AU for sure, but it still ties in very closely with the original plotline. _

_-Finally, apologies for the late addition. It took FOREVER to find out where this story was going, but I've pretty much got it all planned out now. Expect more additions! Yaaaay!_

_-thesolitaryone-_


	5. Yonder Dark Abyss

_**Chapter 5: Yonder dark abyss**_

Jo Harvelle had never been a saint in her life; no hunter ever is. They each enjoy a certain level of casual promiscuity, a causal effect of living on the road or forever in the path of imminent danger. Still, no hunter would decree what she was preparing for that evening; sex was always for pleasure, reminiscence, tension release, or for whatever other reason. But in reparation for a deal with a demon? Not so much; all intimate contact between the client and demon ceased after sealing the deal in question. However Joe Harvelle was the exception; her life depended on her ability to suck it up, avoid prejudice, and get the job done.

If only her mother could see how far she'd fallen.

_No, we mustn't think things like that_, she scolded to herself. If only we were born without a conscience, how much easier life would be. Still, she'd devised in her head a list of restrictions for the events of the coming evening to allow herself to get through it without nausea, and without feeling as though she'd bathed in mud. Before she went to work she bought some extra strength, harsh, one-step-from-being-bleach soap to shower with afterward. At least then she'd be able to scrub the shit off her body, even if it would only cleanse the surface.

She knew one day she'd probably have to come clean about the whole situation to her mother and brother. One day she'd have to return to the Roadhouse and face up to everything, not only for the guilt she would face keeping this secret alone, but for her mother's distinctly unnerving ability to detect even the slightest change in her daughter. Not that this trait would be necessary by the time she was able to fess up; even for a stranger to observe Jo between six weeks ago and now would find a completely different person. Same body, different face. She couldn't imagine the shell of a woman she'd be the next time she went home. _If_ she went home. _If_ she had the courage. _If _she could survive Crowley.

Life is full of _Ifs _and _What Ifs_. Such small words; not even words, _sounds_, but they packed so much connotative meaning. But, her mother always taught her that life isn't about words, or sounds, or philosophies, but about getting up and doing what you've got to do, and if you survive the day you do it all again.

She wasn't rostered on to work today, but she called up the bar and requested a day shift anyway; she'd missed a huge amount of work and rent was due. Besides, it acted as a distraction. Keeping busy is always preferable to sitting at home waiting for the worst to occur.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by a voice behind her, 'You've been polishing that same glass for twenty minutes, who is he?' Her name was Juanita; a Kiwi exchange student who she had gotten quite close with, despite only working at the bar for a few weeks.

'No one,' she returned, putting away the over-polished rocks glass and picking up another.

'Listen. You've been missing work, your eyes get darker every day. You never talk anymore. I'm just concerned, that's all.'

'I know, cheers. But I'm stuck in a bad situation is all, one of my own doing.' Juanita's look of concern deepened.

'You know, I've been in bad relationships before. If you're getting hurt-'

'No,' she answered defensively, 'it's not like that at all.' Weighing up the consequences of revealing parts of her life she strictly beguiled to no one, she finally continued, 'I have a sort of, agreement, with an acquaintance who's been rather difficult to deal with.'

'One of those who didn't reveal they were crazy until after you agreed to help them?' She suggested, smiling slightly. Jo nodded and laughed, 'absolutely.'

'Everyone has their demons Jo.' She replied, picking up a tray of glasses and placing them out the back.

'You're not wrong,' Jo answered under her breath.

* * *

It was actually ironic, that after their second deal was sealed she was strangely anticipating this portion of the agreement. That second kiss was for her at the time, surprising, but with more than a month to ponder how much she despised the man bound to her pushed any romantic feelings well and truly out of her thoughts. Now she was dreading it; in spades.

Time was ticking away faster than she would have liked. 5.30 became 6, and 6 was quickly followed by 7. Crowley never gave her a specific ETA, and she was growing restless. This was _so_ like him; giving as little information as humanly possible and expecting full returns. Well, that certainly wasn't going to be happening tonight.

After her day shift had ended, thoughts raced in her mind like fire flares on how she would approach the situation. For the most part she decided complete incongruity; if he wanted her to wear black, she'd don white. Though this was difficult, everything she had was black or red.

Luckily, through the year, she'd welcomed enough gentlemen callers into her apartment to build up a collection of men's attire. Her most recent visitor had been wearing a long-sleeved white business shirt, and despite the visit being over 7 weeks ago, she was yet to dry-clean it. She never planned on returning the shirts left from her one night stands, but she'd clean them in case a situation arose in which one would be needed. Distractions had meant this particular one missed that ritual, but she decided it was better. Though the shirt wasn't dirty, there was still a lingering hint of male on the shirt which she doubted Crowley would appreciate. Anything to make the bastard more uncomfortable.

She threw on the white t-shirt over a plain white bra and panties. The length of material reached half way down her thigh given her petit frame, however this too was too much skin, far too much. She donned the hideous pair of white running shorts she only wore when laundered clothing was scarce, and clasped a thick elasticized belt around her waist. Scanning her appearance in the mirror she was shocked at how ordinary she looked. All makeup removed and hair unwashed, she would have repelled any warm-blooded male the minute they laid eyes on her. If only she'd thought to not shave her legs this morning, that truly would have been the sordid icing on the cake.

Going to the fridge, she grabbed the first of the six beers she'd nicked from work in a vain attempt to render her at least somewhat inebriated by the time he arrived. It was 8pm, more than likely he wouldn't appear until well after dark; around midnight. Regardless, she collapsed onto the velvet settee and downed the beer as fast as possible just in case her theory proved incorrect.

She was right. Within thirty seconds of that very thought leaving her head, there he appeared before her, looking no different to the last time she saw him. Assessing her attire, he gave her a look of distinct contempt.

'It's funny. I could have sworn I left strict sartorial instructions with you last night,' he sneered.

'Turns out I have a very short memory,' she quipped back, not moving from the lounge or lowering her second beer.

'Oh don't worry. I didn't think you'd remember. I brought backup.' He pulled a bag from behind him and threw it at her. She opened it tentatively, and pulled a black lace bra and slip. She scoffed and threw the bag right back at him. 'I'm not wearing that.' Looking thoroughly unperturbed, Crowley snapped his fingers sharply. Looming down, she saw the hideous outfit of white had been replaced with the hooker underwear he'd brought with him. Okay, so it was _somewhat_ tasteful.

'I sincerely hope this hasn't been worn before,' she said, examining her new outfit.

'Don't worry love, I picked it up on the way over. But, if you'd prefer to be out of it by all means, strip away.' She stood up, facing him directly.

'I have a few ground rules for this evening.'

'I don't think you're in the pos-'

'_Rule number one_,' she interrupted emphatically, 'no kissing.'

'Oh but I enjoyed it so much last time,' she raised an eyebrow at him, 'and I based on my own recollection, I know you did as well.' She did not speak, but continued glaring at him. 'Fine,' he answered. 'Now-'

'_Rule number two_,' she interrupted again, 'strictly _no_ foreplay.'

'Now that, love, I know you'll come to regret,' he teased, licking his lips. At her unamused expression he added, 'What? And here I thought you'd _want_ to get all the possible pleasure you could out of a bad situation'.

'Rule number three; you don't stay the night.'

'Wasn't planning to.'

'Rule number four; we make as little eye contact as possible. And rule number five; you use protection.' She finished, glaring at him with a look not to be rivaled.

'Well, darling, contraception,' he clicked his fingers, 'already taken care of. As for the rest, I will adhere. _But_ we move house; I'm most definitely not planning on spending any _coital_ time in this sad little den.'

Before she could reply, he clicked his fingers again, and they appeared in a scantily lit bedroom suite, doused in red velvet and mahogany furniture. The bed was four poster, with soft silken curtains tied to the hilt. If she didn't have every urge to flee the room immediately, she might have actually enjoyed her surroundings.

The next thing she knew she was being dragged closer to the bed, a hungry look in Crowley's eyes. Jo suddenly wished she had come more prepared for this; had more drinks, maybe invested in aphrodisiac pharmaceuticals, picked up "_Rape for Dummies_" from the local library. However she corrected that last gauche thought in her head immediately; this couldn't really be classified as rape. Or, at least she couldn't think of it as such. _Just breathe Jo._

These less than wholesome thoughts were interrupted by a soft hand stroking down her back, making her shiver. She felt hit lips caress the back of her neck, and his hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer to him. She, however, could sense where this particular path was heading, and turned to face him, letting out a groan.

'I'm pretty sure I said _no_ foreplay,' she said, arms crossed in front of her.

'Well fine. If you don't want to take even a little enjoyment from the situation, suit yourself,' he answered, and proceeded to push her onto the bed. He made to take off what little clothes she had on, and she stopped him.

'I'll do it.'

'Grumpy guts.'

Far too quickly for her liking, both of them sat naked before each other, and without another word, he entered.

* * *

She was confused.

What was he playing at? She would never have thought that this demon, who by all counts should be damned to hell fourteen times over; this hellacious being who sought no comfort in joy or love; the man who had made her fear the darkness and despise herself, could possibly at put so much effort into showing a girl a good time. She expected physical aggression, verbal abuse, or at the very least a complete and utter disregard of her own personal pleasure. Her body betrayed her as, time after time it responded eagerly to his every advance. She did not expect this, and she was not comfortable with it.

Barely two minutes after he had finished, she rose to put her clothes on. Time spent here was time wasted, and she longed to scrub away the past hour before reality sank in. She just had sex with a _demon_, and worse, she _enjoyed _it.

But maybe she was approaching this erroneously; perhaps he had within him the potential to be compassionate and caring. Perhaps there was some human left in him still.

'Leaving so soon? Here i thought you'd had a change of heart,' came the smarmy English voice.

Maybe not.

'I need to shower. I suggest you do the same,' she stated, her voice completely devoid of emotion. It'd be better if her face remained stony; she would not bequeath to him the satisfaction.

'I don't shower, love.' She grimaced; it was beastly, yet oddly unsurprising.

She was _so_ looking forward to seeing the back of this room; to see the back of him. However it dawned on her the fleeting nature of any relief she would feel after leaving the bedroom. This, of course would not be the last time she'd see him; intimately or not. There would always be another mark, and always another pork sword to exhaust. She needed a break from this; seeing Crowley two consecutive days in a row was too much.

'If I'm going to be okay with this I'm going to need time.' she stated, now fully dressed - albeit in the slip he bestowed upon her.

He look mildly confused, a look juxtaposed interestingly against his entirely naked body. 'Take all the time you need'. She got the feeling he'd misunderstood her.

'As in. I need some time from _you_. I think I've more than filled my Crowley quota for the week. I don't know if my stomach can hack it.' He sighed, and adopted a look of someone explaining a simple concept to a child of limited intelligence. He sat up and donned the suit, perhaps to emphasize his next seemingly well-chosen words.

'Let's recap,' he said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, 'you entered a deal three years ago to save your mother's life.' She said nothing, anticipating where this argument was heading.

'So to get out of it, you ask for my help.' He was standing now. 'I, out of the goodness of my heart, and at great personal risk, happily obliged; saving your life and allowing you entrance to Heaven in return for a few personal favors. And _then_ when you failed to word your agreement properly, I even consented to amend said agreement. Again, out of the goodness of my own heart. I'm not going to go through this rubbish with you again, _Har-velle_, and I'll call upon you anytime I bloody well please!'

Her eyes stung with hot tears, but she fought them back before he noticed. She couldn't live like this, no one could. Constantly in fear, killing in cold blood, sleeping with hell-damned demons. _Damnit_, she thought to herself, _I will _not_ let him see me cry again_.

'But now, if you had have _asked nicely_ instead of _demanding_, I may have been more accommodating.' He said, pouring himself a scotch. He didn't offer her one, nor did she expect him to.

'Fine. May I _please_ have some time off?' She asked through teeth gritted so tight she thought they might crumble. He considered her question through the bottom of his glass, his reply as patronizing as her question was forced;

'No.'

She blinked, and found herself back in her apartment, completely alone.

'_Bastard!' _

He _always_ has to have the last word.

* * *

_A/N - Yaaaaaaay for me actually updating! Apologies of course. I always say I'm almost done!... but then the perfectionist in me makes me wait to ensure it's near perfect. And I now that I'm moving back across the country for work, life has eaten up all my spare time. BUT! I love this story and I _will_ finish it. YOU HAVE TO MAKE ME FINISH IT. Pester me! I've written a crap ton FF in the past, especially for HP, but of everything I've written, this is by FAR my favourite. Really REALLY don't want to lose motivation._

_Okay, enough rambling_

_-Title is an abbreviation of the 369th line of Faust "To shudder not at yonder dark abyss". If you don't understand the correlation, look up the word "yonder", then you should be right ;-)._

_-I also feel as though I owe readers an apology regarding the lack of smut I know you were all expecting in this chapter. There're a few reasons I didn't include it: a) I thought it would be detrimental to the tone of the story; b) I don't think I would have been able to keep them in character (I'm really _not_ that talented). Already I found myself straying from Crowley's character a touch (but then I brought him back, so its all good). Safe to say I _really_ don't want to make him a _completely_ selfish bastard, so I granted him this one lenience. In bed (*wink*). COME ON GUYS THIS IS MY CROWLEY! Okay. Craziness over. But rest assured, there will be smut. Ohhhh there will be smut. But for now, the storyline is more important._

-Okay, seriously, thankyou for all your comments. They're so encouraging. It makes me keep writing, it truly does. And you know I'm not kidding when I don't use italics in the A/N section. Seriously - you guys are amazing.

-_Oh, and I'm sorry for breaking the melancholy in the story briefly with the use of the word "pork sword". I just seriously love that double entendre so much it makes my insides hurt._

_-thesolitaryone-_

_x_


	6. Neither Goods Nor Treasure

_**Chapter 6: Neither goods nor treasure**_

She needed a distraction from her life.

The past three days had been consumed with only one thing: reading. She'd ventured to the local library to check out books pertaining to emotional upheavals, though carefully avoiding any with the term "rape" in their contents. It was much easier to deal with the situation if she allowed herself to believe the arrangement was completely consensual. However, she felt she needed some back up; something to turn to after leaving the bedroom. She soon realised, however, that the support of a book was in no way a replacement for the support of a fellow human being. She needed friends, family. She needed her mother.

Though something caught her eye as she was leaving the library; a recent translation of Goethe's _Faust _was on display in the window. It was too much of a coincidence that this book would be just sitting, waiting for her as she left. She checked it out immediately and started reading.

She'd always found with books such as these that despite it being difficult to understand the almost alien use of the written word to begin with, after a while you become so immersed in its world you barely notice the differences you had at first. She had always loved this tale; it was so relevant to the lives of a hunter it should be prescribed reading.

It was the first time she had read it since she was in elementary school. Her mother always kept a copy around the house for lore reference, and she happened to pick it up one day out of boredom. Much of it she didn't understand, but she could comprehend enough to understand the overall gist of the story. Though she could never understand Goethe's second part, however she suspected it had more to do with his eventual senility than her lack of intelligence.

The book meant more to her now than before for obvious reasons. She was Faust; Crowley was Mephistopheles. Although she was sure Mephisto was not quite so sadistic.

There was something she did not understand though; if demons are created from the remnants of tortured human souls, what was Crowley's story? Was he once as human as she? And if so, how long ago? She could venture to guess that it had been a very long while since he had walked the earth as an actual human being rather than the sick, perfidious version of one given his status in the underworld. However, she would also guess that any information she would come to know about Crowley would be pure speculation; his "plausible deniability" rule would not permit her insight into his past, nor should she really want it. It makes it easier to know as little as possible about the man she has given her life to.

_Given her life to. _It sounds so romantic when you put it that way, like he had married her and whisked her away from a terrible life. Rather, it seems he had chained her to live her life from within a cage, one she could never get out of. She could never escape, he'd find her in an instant. All she could hope for is for him to crack a window; perhaps let a little light and fresh air into her prison. Those who live in darkness eventually find themselves consumed by it.

Gretchen's salvation in the fable indicated the conclusion of the story, and she placed the book down on her coffee table gently, contemplating the story's end. Faust had just abandoned her in the dungeon after she was granted salvation from heaven despite having killed her mother and child. He did not love her, he _pitied_ her, despite knocking her up out of wedlock. The story centres on the title character so intently that she is often overlooked. But she is the real victim in this story; she had no business with the quarrels and wagers of heaven and hell, and yet she was ultimately a victim of it. Jo might be the Faust of her story but she vowed she would never find herself a Gretchen to sacrifice.

And like clockwork, there he was. He looked terrible.

'Well don't you look like a sack of crap?' She jested.

He looked thoroughly unamused as he replied, 'business is strong. Usually happens when the entire financial system is a hair from shiteing itself.' She looked shocked. 'What's with the look Harvelle?'

She shook her head. 'It's just.. you never share anything about your work with me.'

'Don't get too excited. I just had a particularly rubbish day.' he said. Sometimes he had his moments.

'Did you want a seat?' she offered, scooting over.

'...No,' he replied with a contemptuous look. Moment gone. 'I have a job for you.'

'Fantastic,' she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

'Mind the attitude will you?' she said nothing, but she through him a hateful glare. 'Don't worry, no pious figures this time. It's a crossroads demon. Here,' he threw her a card tin. She opened it, recognising its contents as the ingredients to summoning the demon.

'I already have one of these.'

'Yes, I expect you do. But this one is better. It's for summoning a ... specific ... demon.'

'And what, can I ask, did this demon do?'

'No, you can't ask.' He wasn't angry, and neither was she; she'd expected that response.

Her voice was diplomatic as she replied, 'come on Crowley. If you expect me to trust you-'

'I _expect_ you to trust that there is good reason for it.' His tone did not share her diplomacy. 'Be done in an hour'.

* * *

It did not take her long to summon the demon, nor did it take long to kill it. She'd hoped it would take longer; any time away from the cavalier bastard is time thoroughly savoured.

He wasn't waiting for her when she returned, but she knew he wouldn't be far off. And she knew that when he did appear, it would be to drag her to the bedroom again. _Again again again._ She wished he was a one night stand kind of demon. Once and that's it. But no, she got the one who had an appreciation for ingemination.

She had a longing to talk with her mother. She hadn't heard her voice since before Crowley came into her life, and nostalgia had made living alone unbearable. She's seen more of her goddamn demonic boss than of anyone in her old life.

Still, she didn't trust herself to talk to her mother over the phone; there was a huge possibility she'd slip up, or Crowley would show up, or some other disaster would occur to give her away. She was really not ready to let her mother in on the recent developments of her life. No, a letter would be her best option. Out of character, but safe.

She went to her dresser in her room and pulled out a sheet of paper and pen. Sitting cross legged on the bed, she began to write:

_Mum,_

_I have no control over my life._

Wait. What? Dammnit. Scrunching the paper up, she threw it across the room.

'You quite right there?' Came Crowley's voice from next to the bed. Clearly he had materialised right in the path of the hurtling paper.

'You should mind where you land.' He did not retaliate.

'Well then. Quite ready?' He asked, holding out his hand. She was definitely not ready for this. Her only hope was to stall him, but how? He did not allow her to ask questions, and of most things she had no desire to be enlightened anyway. But she needed to try.

'Wait.'

'Darling, I don't wait for anyone.' Her mind was racing. What would he be interested in? She found herself blurting out the freshest topic in her mind.

'Have you ever read Faust?' he looked thoroughly taken aback.

'Yes', he answered skeptically. 'I found it a riveting read. Now come on.'

'-No. I have to ask. I uh... can't help but notice the similarities between our situation and the one Goethe illustrated.'

'Are you daft woman?' Good. He was getting annoyed; this conversation could prove very effective.

'No. I must ask though, which came first? Goethe, or the story he tells?'

'I cannot work out if your are being deliberately stupid or suffering from a serious lapse in your mother's education. The story, of course. We don't exist because of the story, it exists because of us'. She knew as such, but very suddenly something clicked in her head.

'I recently checked the book out from the local library. I've made the clear connection between myself and Faust in the fable. But I wonder,' she left the room, returning with the book open in her hands, 'have you always been Mephisto,' she handed the book to him, 'or were you once Faust as well?'

She'd gone too far and she knew it.

'You insolent little child. You don't have the right to ask such a thing.' Her desire to avoid coital contact had been overrun by curiosity.

'Calm down. I was only curious.' She decided it better not to press the matter. The pair stood, staring at each other, the book still in Crowley's hand. He began to tap it against his other free hand, contemplating whether or not to satiate her curiosity.

'Lucifer did not create demons from nothing, he doesn't have the mojo. He, instead tempted mankind, and gave their souls houseroom to fester into almost unrecognisable beings. Only God has the ability to make something out of squat.'

Jo smirked. 'Lucifer? God? Really Crowley? You believe in such fairytales?' He faltered, looking at her with a quizzical expression.

'Really? You understand there is a hell but you don't believe in Lucifer or God? That's a touch ironic.'

'I suppose it's ironic. But I also find cruel irony in the fact that God first gave man free will then proceeded to punish him for it. One of the many hypocrisies of the bible if you ask me.'

'Well I admit it's a tad facetious at times, but you know the whole "hell is for those who doubt that hell exists" idea. You don't have faith in hell, then you cant have faith in heaven.'

'A "tad facetious"? It's downright flawed logic. And here we are expected to be born with pious faith. Being a hunter has taught me that nothing in life should be taken on faith alone'.

'I'm impressed. What a stark view of the world you hold'.

'There are no gifts in life. I'm pretty sure this situation is living proof.' He seemed speechless at her entirely flawless logic. 'I see that we cannot know anything,' she quoted.

He clicked his tongue. 'Indeed.'

'But wait, you were talking about demons?'

'Yes. I was saying that Lucifer only moulds man into demons. So,' he sighed, 'yes, I was once human.'

'Could have fooled me,' she bit back.

'Mind your snippiness. I'm not human anymore; demons are emotionless souls. So just because I'm not a sappy bag of pus now, doesn't mean I never was.'

'So how did you wind up in hell?' She asked, quite sure he wouldn't answer.

'I made a deal.' He said simply.

'Not going to elaborate?'

'No. And on that note, its our cue to leave.' Well, she'd stalled him for a good 20 minutes. It was more than she'd hoped for.

'Fine. But you remember the rules?'

''Course.'

Again she found herself in their sex bedroom. But this time it felt different. She knew more about him now; though he hadn't changed in any respect, she felt just ... differently ... towards him. Perhaps it was mild curiosity, perhaps not. She wasn't any closer to liking him than she was an hour ago, but the level of intrigue increased substantially.

But, if the conversation had taught her anything, it's that although she had no control over her life, perhaps on some level, _she_ had some power over _him_. She had never thought of that possibility before, and had only considered herself a decent looking stand-in-woman for his _needs_.

With these thoughts running through her mind, she felt slightly less sick being led to the bed by her less-then gentlemanly caller.

* * *

_A/N: Weooo for fast updates! BTW; I wrote this on my iPad, and I think I got all the spelling/grammatical errors out, but mind if I haven't. Apologies, but for some reason I really loved writing this chapter and wanted to get it up as fast as possible._

_Okay, I feel as though there's a shite ton of explaining to do. All to do with the philosophy of the chapter._

_First, to those who are religious reading this; sorry about my the complete lack of faith (religious) in the chapter. I thought it would be an interesting juxtaposition of the two characters to have one with faith and one without. I decided to swap them around (have Jo without faith, and Crowley with) purely to mess with you. Jks. I doubt any Hunter would believe in the existence of Angels/God/Lucifer until they are given proof (just look at Dean when he first met Cas). _

_Second: Yes, Faust was officially brought out into open in the story. Mostly because I REALLY EFFING LOVE FAUST! but also because it introduces a different dynamic between the characters._

_Third: If anyone is a major Faust nerd like me I'M SORRY! about the line "I see that we cannot know anything"; it is not in the official translation of the fable, but it is a direct translation of the German phrase "und sehe dass wir nichts wissen Konnen" (or so I have been informed). I just really liked the line._

_Fourth: "Hell is for those who doubts that hell exists" is, funnily enough, not a line from Faust. It is actually a line from a Gwen Harwood poem entitled "Night Thoughts". My interpretation is that you need to believe in hell to believe in heaven, as it is a yin/yang theory. So, basically, you need to be religious to get into heaven. BUT, this is just my interpretation. I'm pretty sure its a deliberate irony of Harwood's considering she was a deep believer in the ideals of Wittgenstein (who we all know is Agnostic). But that's not the point. Lets not get into it. SO not the place._

_Fifth: This chapter is going to set the tone for the rest of the story. REMEMBER THIS IS A TRAGEDY! No comedic elements here (and I mean that in the Shakespearean sense, not the Adam Sandler sense). So yes, Jo's interpretation of their relationship dynamics have changed, but shit just goes downhill from here. It is just Jo's interpretation after all._

_Sixth: THANKYOU! You are amazing for reading and putting up with my utter crazy ramblings._

_-thesolitaryone-_

_x_


	7. In the Currents of Life

_I needed to pass some time in this story to get to the next big storyline. So, basically, I needed a storyline montage. So here we have 7 snippets of Jo's life in relation to Crowley_

_**Chapter 7: In the Currents of Life**_

The days became weeks; the weeks became months. Life had sort of settled into a constantly changing routine, and as the days multiplied, she was getting more and more used to its ups and downs. January passed, then February. Soon it would be her birthday.

She got up from the bed and turned to face him, tying her hair up as she spoke; 'I know we agreed to meet tomorrow night, but I'm going to have to take a rain-check.'

'Oh, alright. Fair enough. I'm already pretty set with my plans to catch unicorns and vomit sunshine tomorrow night, because, you know, my weekend itinerary is just as likely to happen as yours.' He said, not moving from the bed, though thankfully he had the sheet pulled to his waist. His face bore the unmistakable sign of a distinct lack of amusement despite his retort.

'You can't keep holing me up you know. I feel like I spend every waking minute with you, or following some creature on a goose chase you assigned to me.' He stared up to the ceiling, and she wasn't sure if he was actually listening. 'I had friends before you came along, and they're curious as to- hey HEY! Are you even listening?'

'What?' He turned to her, and sat up against the pillow, picking up the very overdue copy of Faust she left next to the bed.

'I honestly feel like I'm speaking to a child sometimes.' She replied exasperatedly, shaking her head.

'You can see your friends before we meet. I have never missed an appointment with you, and I don't plan on starting now.'

'_No, you wouldn't want to show any sign of lenience, would you…?' _She said to herself, picking up her jacket.

'What was that?'

'Nothing, don't worry. ' She stood there, waiting to leave, but he made no move to dismiss her. She threw her hands up to alert him to her impatience, but he continued to read, clearly ignoring her.

'Aren't you going to send me home?'

'No,' he said, turning a page in the book she knew he didn't read, 'I think you can walk.'

'You're kidding?' She knew where they were, but it was about a dozen miles from home. Did he really expect her to take that journey on foot? She had to open the bar at 8, and it was already 3am! _Dirty, rotten asshole!_

'Well then, I'm taking _this,_' she snatched the book from his hands, 'with me.' And with a last sarcastic smile, she left the room.

* * *

'Cheers Sam, I'll keep my ears open.'

She hung up the phone, thinking about the conversation. Sam was ringing around, trying to find any leads possible about the whereabouts of the Yellow-eyed demon. Of course she had no time to do the proper research, but she did have a very valuable acquaintance higher up in the food chain. But was it really worth facing the bastard? It's not like he would willingly surrender any overly valuable information to her.

But, the boys were like family…

'Crowley?' She called into the empty air in her apartment. She waited for a few seconds, but no response. Typical Crowley move, he would probably rather wait for her to get together a summoning ritual – which can take over an hour – than do her the service of coming when called.

'Come on Crowley, stop being an ass and just show!' Again, nothing. _Fine_, she said to herself, making for the chest of drawers in the living area where she held her ritualistic paraphernalia.

'Bloody hell woman, you've got no bloody patience!'

'Well I would have more if you didn't take your sweet ass time to get here when I call you!'

'I have work you know. I'm not a dog you can whistle for.'

'Funny, because you have no problem treating me as one!' He made to say something, but bit his tongue. Thankfully too, because any affirmation of her comment would have resulted in physical violence, and he knew it. He wasn't her dog, but she was starting to train him.

'So what do I owe the pleasure? He asked.

'Tell me about the Yellow-Eyed demon.'

He laughed out loud. 'No.'

'Come on, you _never_ tell me anything!'

'I told you about Lucifer, that about fills your quota for a while.

'No, you told me some _fairytale_ about angels and heaven. I don't ask for much, you know it.'

At her look of genuine longing, he sighed.

'_Fine_. None of us know a whole lot though, but I know he's the big man on campus, the big cheese. We all answer to him; though thankfully, deal-making's a separate department, so I don't have to very often.' He paused for a beat 'That's all you're getting for a year!' He finished, pointing purposefully at her.

'Not even a current whereabouts?' She asked skeptically.

He gave her a "are you serious?' look and vanished. She expected as much.

* * *

_Goddamnit!_

She was getting her ass thoroughly kicked by a high ranking demon Crowley send her after. Blow after blow to the stomach, limbs, back, skull, chest and about every other body part she could think of. There was a devil's trap on a sheet of cardboard hidden under a pile of grass somewhere to her left, but she didn't have a hope in hell of getting him to it without some kind of help.

He picked her up and threw her against a telephone pole. She could feel her entire body crack under the pressure; _fan_tastic_, more injuries for the Chiropractor_. For the first time since moving away from the roadhouse she felt as though she was honestly going to die. At least she would be away from the son of a bitch who sent her here. Always a silver lining…

The demon suddenly punched a spot on her pelvic bone where a plastic hip flask held a body of holy water. It burst open, saturating his arm and torso and forcing him to the ground. In the moment of weakness, she kneed him in the face and he was flung backward. Using the remaining holy water, she sprayed his face, forcing him to retreat closer and closer to the hidden trap. Finally, he got there.

'Thank bloody God,' she said, bending over to catch her breath. The wind had been completely knocked out of her, and she was dubious as to whether it would ever return.

She felt to her back pocket to pull out her trusty exorcism ritual she took everywhere with her. It an instant, her heart sank; it wasn't there.

_Shit shit shit shit shit!_

She'd left it in the back pocket of the unwashed pair she had been wearing earlier, which was an inconvenient _100 bloody miles away_! The demon in front of her started laughing.

'What are you gonna do now? You've got _nothing_ bitch!'

'Shut it assface. You're "all powerful" one trapped behind chalk lines!'

'_Assface_? Really?' The voice was Crowley's. He held to her the familiar piece of paper she'd left at home.

'Apparently,' he said, pausing to look at the demon who seemed thoroughly unsurprised to see him there, 'you'd forgotten you were a hunter.'

'You're helping me?'

'Just protecting my investment.' After a last look at the mark he was gone.

'So _you're_ Crowley's new bitch?' He mocked. She said nothing in response as she opened the folded note and began to read.

* * *

The two girls were laughing hysterically.

'…and that's when,' forced Juanita through fits of laughter, 'he said… don't worry… it wouldn't fit in the boot anyway!' They were both crying at the anecdote, barely breathing. All of a sudden a very drunk Jo fell backward over her bar stool, pulling several empty beer bottles with her. The gales of laughter intensified.

The two of them had just closed up shop, and were spending some much needed girl-time together. Whereas before Jo made the deal, nights like this with bar staff occurred weekly; now they were too sparse to be classified as a monthly occurrence. She missed them, she missed her friends. These days the person she was closest to is Crowley, and he brought a pit of dread to her stomach every time she thought of their next scheduled meeting. That's not friendship.

'Okay okay,' said Juanita, swaying slightly and slurring her words incomprehensibly, 'we've spent aaaaaaall night talking about my man-friend-thing. Now it's your turn. Come on. Who's the guy who's been stealing you away from us for the past ages? We never see you anymore! We miss you!' She finished.

'It's no one. Just a ahh.. a ahh… friend. That's right, a friend…'

'Ooo. Friends with benefits! How naughty.' She said. They both started laughing again.

'No no. See you'd think that. But in reality,' she said, picking up a whiskey bottle from behind the counter, 'he's the only one who benefits!' This time it was Juanita's turn to fall off her chair in merriment. But, unlike Jo, she didn't return to her seat. Rather, Jo heard a distinct snore from the unwashed bar floor.

'Oh no… someone's going to have to clean that up.' She slurred. Without really acknowledging her friend on the floor, Jo grabbed her coat and stumbled home.

* * *

It was 10pm and the bar was dead. The only patron she'd received in the past _hour_ was the drunken hick who claimed to be Johnny Knocksville. No, that's not a spelling error, he was just _that_ deluded. She was considering shutting up shop a few hours early to save money, but then again… she considered work her free time, given her other job was so desperately taxing. And she didn't even get _paid_ for it; in fact, _she_ was the one paying for it.

'Hey Jo, we're closing,' came tired voice from the fridges. It was Michael, the only full time member of the bar staff; it was almost like he lived here.

'Come on, just another half an hour,' she pleaded.

'Not wanting to leave?' He asked, eyebrows raised. 'You used to be the first one out the door.'

'Yeah well, things change,' she answered.

'Fine, but only because I love you,' he chimed back, walking out of the refrigerator. Ironically she got the sense he actually did have feelings for her. It got awkward sometimes, but she learnt to ignore it.

Exactly 29 minutes later she very much regretted her decision. _He_ decided to come in for a drink. Or a random bout of torture, depending on how you looked at things. Though he was always careful to never be seen with her in public, and the blunt appearance made her curious.

At this point, she was behind the wall near the dry stores, and he had thankfully not seen her yet. Michael was polishing glasses behind the counter, and took the customer.

'What're you after mate?' He asked.

'I'm looking to be served by Harvelle. I know she's here.' Michael, sensing trouble, did not make any physical or verbal suggestion of her presence.

'Sorry sunshine, I'm all you've got.' Nice and all as it was to have him get up on his back about her protection, it was frivolous; Crowley knew she was there, and she needed to know what was so urgent.

'It's alright.' She said, giving him a look to confirm it, 'I know him.' He made no move to give them privacy.

'What do you want?' She asked.

'Tsk tsk. Manners. I'm just here for a drink,' he said sternly.

'Come off it. You can drink anywhere,' she whispered furiously. 'Leave. Now.'

'Scotch, please,' he said loudly, 'and make it vintage, I have no use for drinks younger than you are, even though I _love_ how young you are.'

'Alright, that's _enough_.' Michael had obviously heard everything.

'Michael _please_. Give us a minute alright?' Fair call he was being protective, but right now it would not do for him to listen to this conversation. He gave her a look she couldn't quite register, and stormed off.

'Got a bit of a temper that one.' She turned and pulled from the top shelf an unopened bottle. This bar did not usually cater for those with expensive taste.

'Johnny Gold,' she said, placing the bottle on the counter with slightly more force than necessary, '18 years. It's all we got.'

'I'll pass, thanks.' He said with a look of disgust.

'Apologies. This bar doesn't cater to pretension.' She replied, placing the bottle back.

'I have a birthday present for you,' he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small golden box. Her skeptical look did not coincide with her feeling of mingled glee in her stomach. What girl doesn't like presents in small boxes?

'My birthday isn't until next week,' she said, taking the box from him. A pit of hate boiled in her stomach as she saw what was inside; a small post-it note with the name and address of her next mark.

'_GET OUT!_' She screamed, furiously.

His cruel laughter stung the crisp air for hours after he vanished.

* * *

Two days ago, a stray kitten jumped through Jo's window and nestled itself on her couch. By the time she'd gotten home from work later that night, it was close to dying.

She'd been thinking of getting a pet of some form, but avoided it due to her tumultuous lifestyle. Things like pets always got the raw end of the stick when they live with hunters, and it wasn't fair. However, she decided on this one lenience. She wouldn't keep it; rather she'd nurse it back to health and drop it down to the local pet store to be sold to a more loving, less perilous family. Maybe she'd pick up a fish while she was there; buy it a tank; get some awesome scenery for it; call it Richard.

Richard.

Richard Fish.

Dick Fish.

_Haha_.

Yep, she was for sure going crazy.

Over the next 48 hours, she never left it alone; constantly making sure it was well fed, warm and healthy. About an hour before she was planning on parting with it, Crowley appeared.

'I have a job.'

'Can it wait? I'm just about to take this kitten to the pet store,' she replied, pointing to the cat snoozing on the windowsill, taking in what little warm sunlight Duluth received in March.

He gave her an exasperated look, pointed to a pillow, and telekinetically hurtled it across the room directly at the sleeping cat. The next thing Jo heard was the cat's elongated _screech_ as it was thrown down five storeys of building to its death.

'Are you kidding?'

'I hate cats,' was all he said, handing her an instructional post-it note.

'You are such a shit.'

Guess she wouldn't be getting Richard Fish after all.

* * *

It was the beginning of May, and summer had started to drift along. She'd lost count of how many people she had killed on his orders, but she had kept a thorough count of how many times she'd let him … touch …. her. It was a true testament to how messed up her life was; she would sooner keep tally over how many time she'd had sex with someone rather than how many lives she had taken. Though whenever she caught herself dwelling on her life choices, she'd make a solid effort to snap out of it. Thoughts like that just cause headaches.

But tonight she was nervous, unusually so. She and Crowley had not planned on seeing each other tonight, but he always dropped in after a job to make sure she'd been successful. It just so happened that she'd rushed this particular one so she could get ready.

For a date.

With Michael.

Oh _God_.

She was pacing again, waiting for him to arrive. Their deal wasn't monogamous, but she had a sinking feeling he wouldn't react well to the news of her seeing other people. He was a demon, a disgusting excuse for a being that has more than likely slept with dozens of people while seeing her, but he was possessive and vengeful. She had considered not telling him at all, but he would know. He always knows. She has no privacy anymore.

'Going somewhere?' Came his voice from behind her. 'You're looking especially delicious tonight.' It was true, she was wearing her go-to LBD, and her golden hair was up.

'We had no arrangements to meet tonight, so I made some arrangements of my own,' she said, looking away from him. _Greatest. Euphemism. Ever._

He chuckled. 'This has been torturing you, hasn't it; the idea that I might not let you see other people.' She let out a sigh of relief. 'Oh thank God, I thought you would crack the shits.' She made to walk out the door.

'Where do you think you're going?' He asked, still looking amused.

'Out…?' She answered, turning to him.

'Of course you're bloody well not allowed!' He said, half laughing.

'What?' She asked. Had she misheard him?

'You're not going out. I forbid it.' He said simply. She slammed the door.

'There was _nothing_ in our contract to _forbid_ seeing other people!' She screamed. '_You can't do this to me!_ I need to get _out!_ See other _people!_ Be _NORMAL!_'

He walked up to her, grabbing her by the arms and pushing her against the recently closed door, the amusement very much gone from his face. 'It appears you misunderstand our arrangement. _You. Are. Mine._ I _own_ you. And no one is _ever_ allowed to lay a finger on you. _Get it_?'

'So what,' she yelled, shaking him off her, 'I'm never allowed a relationship, to get married, to have kids. All so you can keep me _prisoner!_'

'Yes,' was all he said. Then something clicked in her mind, changing her attitude completely.

'You're…. jealous,' she said in a smaller voice. It wasn't a question.

'Don't be ridiculous,' he said, turning away from her.

'So you mean to tell me, that despite the fact you've been messing around with other people; despite the fact it was _never_ written into my contract; despite the fact I have full control over my actions as per our negotiation, you still can't let me go out? No really Crowley, tell me why? I'm _dying_ to know.' She said, arms crossed, glaring at him.

'No.'

'No to what?'

'I don't mess around.' She was white hot with anger.

'Oh, so that automatically makes it _okay_ to forbid me to see other people? For Christ's sake Crowley, it has taken me _months_ to compartmentalize my life enough to be able to _face_ the idea of dating.

'So no, I don't accept your argument. I'm going out.' She finished, walking to the door.

'Leave and I kill the boy.'

She stood for a second, staring at the door, he eyes filling up with tears. '_Damnit_.' She cried, resting her head against the door. This wasn't fair; _none _of this was fair. The bastard was incapable of love, of compassion, of empathy, but he was sure as hell capable of being possessive, obsessive, jealous and cruel. How much more could one person handle before they cracked? She knew he was still behind her, waiting for a response to further torture her.

In a fit of rage she grabbed the flower vase next to the door and hurtled it at him. But he was gone and she knew…

Everything was going to be different now.

* * *

_A/N_

_Yaaay! I actually wrote a chapter. Well, sort of. I wrote a bunch of tiny chapters and threw them together. I needed to pass some time int he story, so this seemed the best option._

_Sorry about the cliffhanger! Sucks I know, but the next chapter will be intense. As in, I'm going to be tying it into canon, and therefore it basically means shit gets real for Jo. I have it all planned out, I just need time to write it. I'm entering my final year of college, and I don't really have much time on my hands to do anything. But if I can get enough support, I can set aside my Australian Political Lobbying class and write some meaningless fanfiction._

_Some of the comments left have been absolutely amazing, and I thank all of you for reading. I'm sorry updates are few and far between! I hope to get better soon. I'd say we're about 1/3rd the way through the story. So there's plenty more to write._

_And also, for those who are expecting smut. Please be patient. I don't want to ruin the story with it just yet. Evolution, not revolution. I need these characters to grow first._

_Hip hip...HOORAY for Goethe for the title._

_I really want a fish called Richard Fish. But I move around the country too much and it would be impractical. So, he can live forever in my story :-). _

_The term "Crack the shits" I am just realising is an Australian term. So some people may not understand it. Basically it means to get annoyed/angry at someone else. I would change it but...meh. I've already spent ages writing this chapter._

_Also, I'm searching for a beta reader. If anyone wants to volunteer, that would be AMAZING! I suck at the spelling and such and I often miss any mistakes I make. A second opinion always helps._

LOVE YOU GUYS FOREVER!

_-thesolitaryone-_


	8. What Lies Beyond

_A/N: I have come to the belated realisation that Ash is in fact of no relation to Jo. My bad. But for the purposes of this story... he is._

_**Chapter 8: What Lies Beyond**_

Her mother called. Ash was dead.

Jo always suspected she had a childhood similar to the Winchesters'. Nothing in life was kept secret, and no monster or irrational childhood fear was ever counteracted. She had been trained since a child to be wary of the dark; to shoot first and question later. She could never have friends without putting them in danger, and any non-immediate family rejected her parents at a very young age.

Her brother therefore filled the void of any absent friend, cousin, uncle and father. And now he was gone. Her insides clenched as the tears scolded her face. The people she loved in life were being picked off, one by one; all she had left now was her mother, and she couldn't even face the guilt of telling her the truth as to why she hasn't called, or visited, or made any contact whatsoever. She'd slowly eradicated every attachment to her old life.

Facing the light of day never seemed so dark.

She was on the phone to her mother for hours, crying, reminiscing, and even laughing. The pit of guilt in her stomach grew with every passing minute, licking her insides. Her brother was one of the purest souls she knew, and yet here she was, alive, well and living her life as a slave to a demon, when her brother was killed by one. She didn't deserve to live where he did not, and facing a world without the presence of her best friend is something she refused to contemplate.

Her mother isn't stupid, she knew something was wrong, and it was all Jo had in her to not reveal the truth. There are some things a mother needs to know, but there are many things they do not. At this point, being honest is something Ellen would not be able to handle, and Jo would not be the reason for her mother's breakdown. Instead, she lied.

'_Baby, I know something's wrong,' she said, after an hour's conversation, 'I haven't heard a thing from you in months, and you won't answer my calls.' _

_There would come a time for Ellen to know the truth; Jo didn't plan on keeping it a secret forever. But merely hours after the death of her son? No, that wasn't fair._

'_I've just been busy, Mom. You don't need to worry.'_

'_Of course I worry when it's my daughter! I thought you worked at a bar. What on God's earth could possibly be keeping you so occupied?'_

'_I've been hunting as well.'_

_Ellen hated it when she went hunting. But at some point she needed to accept the fact that her daughter is no longer a child, and she shouldn't be treated as such. Hunting is in her blood, and Ellen had no right to keep her from perusing it._

_Thankfully the issue was not pressed further, but Jo needed to question something. It was difficult as she was not ready to enlighten her about Crowley, but her mother was far wiser to the supernatural world than she, and her insights would be far more acute. Ash had just died at the hands of a demon, and therefore bringing up the topic would not be easy._

'_Mom, do you think demons show remorse?' She asked, weaning her way into the topic._

'_No, Jo. Demon's only show the darkest of emotions. They wouldn't be demons if they understood regret.'_

'_But what about other things; like love, and compassion?' She asked tentatively._

'_Why are you asking this? After a demon just killed my son!' _

'_I'm just trying to understand Mom! He was my brother! I would rather know that Ash died at the hands of someone who had it in them to feel bad about it!' There was a pause._

'_I'm sorry hun. But in my experience they have only shown to feel the sinister emotions in life, like jealousy and hatred… Demon's can't love, they can only hesitate.'_

* * *

'Crowley. Not now.' He had appeared to her, with a yellow post-it note no less. She was sitting in the corner of her apartment, photo album in hand, making no move to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Coming here, at this point in time, to give her a job is inexcusable. Did he not understand? Was he unaware?

'Here I thought I'd be doing you a favour. A demon killed your brother, so you,' he slapped the post-it note on the wall, 'get to kill a demon. Tit for tat.'

'Get out.'

'Excuse me?' He asked, cupping his hand behind his ear in mock-misunderstanding.

'You heard me. _Get OUT!_ You have _no _right to be here!' She threw the album at him as hard as possible. It missed.

'I give you three hours.' This brought her fast to her feet, and she charged at him, the ceremonial athame she used ritualistically in hand.

'_How. Dare. You. Come. Here_!' She screamed, lunging for him.

'Holy-!' He ducked her advance just in time. She spun around, whipping the knife across his face, cutting deeply and purposefully. Not satisfied with her efforts, she tried again, and missed by a hair. He grabbed her arm, and locked it behind her back, rendering her incapable of attack.

'Calm. Down.' He panted in her ear. She refused. Snapping her head back, she smacked his face with an almighty _whamp_, forcing him to let go in an attempt to stem the flow of blood pouring from his very broken nose. Sensing weakness, she whipped around, kicking him twice right in the stomach, and punching him square in the face forcing the cavalier bastard to the floor. She jumped on him, pinning a knife to his throat.

'You bastards just killed my brother,' she whispered almost incoherently, 'I don't want revenge on some nameless demon. I want it on _you_.' She tranced the knife down his stomach and towards his lower abdomen. 'Or how about I just rip retribution,' she continued, pressing the knife down hard on his groin, 'right out from your _man pieces_.' He groaned in pain as the blade drew blood. She could sense a build up of strength from inside him.

'Get _OFF!_' He shouted. She was pushed off him and hurtled across the room, smacking her head against the dry wall and collapsing in a heap. She didn't move; she couldn't. Her body ached in a way which had nothing to do with the physical ordeal she just incurred. She couldn't cry, she couldn't _feel_; and she didn't want to. Ever again.

'Please, Crowley, just let me go,' she cried, not looking up. 'Let me go home.'

'No.'

And with that she let everything go; everything she was holding in, everything she forced to remain in the deepest parts of her subconscious, everything she didn't want him to know. She cried for what she'd given up, what she'd lost, and what she'd never see again. Months of buried pain just fled from her, forcing her to hold her stomach in fear of her entire body exploding. She rocked like a helpless child, her screams reverberating horribly off the walls, piercing her ears and making it all so much worse. More than any point in her miserable life, she wanted out. She wanted to join her brother in the blissful reverie of death, to never think or feel again; to be finally free of the shackles keeping her bound to life.

The entire time he stood there, watching her curiously. Neither of them spoke for what seemed like hours. Time just ticked on as she lay there a pathetic, foetal mass.

Finally, he broke the silence.

'Harvelle,' he started. His voice was deliberate, calculating; emotionless. She expected him to tell her to get up, to stop being so damn pathetic, to just get the job done.

'You can do the job tomorrow.' It wasn't a retraction, it was a negotiation.

She looked up at him, trying to assess his attitude. Was he kidding? Was he actually granting her lenience? He was staring at her; she couldn't work out what he was feeling, be it pity, annoyance, hatred, contempt, emptiness...

Curiosity? He once told her, months ago when the deal was first forged that he found her curious. Perhaps he wasn't lying. Curiosity isn't an emotion associated with light or darkness; it was nothing more than an expression of interest.

She stood up and walked towards him, her mind open, blank. There was no more than three metres between them, but it felt like a year had passed before she was finally able to reach out, brush back his hair, and kiss him.

Five months ago she shared both her first, second and, as of a day ago, her seemingly last kiss with him. But she had never forgotten what it felt like. She could feel his hands run up her back, pulling her eagerly and deeper into him. Their tongues dances against their teeth as their body grew steadily closer, and she could feel a very recently bleeding part of his body react quickly to her advances. The desperate need to have every part of him inside her overcame any hesitance she might have otherwise had. Animalistic lust took over, and she could only register one very unwelcome thought: She had to have more, now. Her hands grabbed at every body part she could find.

But something was missing. No matter how much deeper she made the kiss, no matter how hotter, rougher, faster and closer she forced it to become, it was like she hit an impenetrable wall.

And then out of nowhere, he hesitated.

'I-I can't,' he said, pushing her down.

'No it's fine.' She said, grabbing his neck.

'No, Jo,' he said. It was the first time he'd ever used her first name. 'I'm not going to do this with you.' He finished, turning away.

'What, sleep with me? It's not really the first time sunshine,' she said, grabbing his shoulder.

'No, I'm not talking about sex woman, as you bloody well know.' He replied gruffly.

'Goddamnit Crowley!' She cried, running her fingers through her hair. 'I don't believe this; I _honestly_ don't believe it.' She was pacing now. 'You complained about the fact that I made our coital arrangements completely detached, as impersonal as humanly possible, and yet here you are, turning down the opportunity to experience everything you ever wanted from me?'

'You made a deal with a demon, Harvelle, (she registered the re-use of her surname) something you seem to readily forget,' he paused, 'and you should know I'm perfectly content with the direction of our "_arrangements_".'

'This isn't about our deal, Crowley. I'm asking you to do me a favour, to just _be_ there for me. For _once_! I can't see my own _mother_, so excuse me for bequeathing to you one simple request after the _death of my brother_.' Her anger was making her shrill.

'You stupid girl, you don't get it! _I-can't-give-you-what-you-want_! I can't be tender, or caring, or affectionate; I can't be there as a source of comfort; I can't _make love_ to you and be the big spoon as you slowly fall asleep.

'I can only have sex and then be _done_ with you. You can't seem to fathom the idea that you are just a _warm body _to me. Bloody hell woman, I_ am a demon_! It isn't in my nature to be sympathetic.'

She stared at him. Of course she knew it; she's always known it. But something, some ray of hope still lingered in the back of her mind.

_'Demon's can't love, they can only hesitate.'_

'You hesitated.' She stated, calmly.

'What?' He looked taken aback by this unexpected statement.

'When we were kissing, you hesitated before it went any further.' She said walking up towards him again.

'Yes I told you it's because I can't give you-'

'-Yes, but _why_? Why did you stop for that reason? Any warm blooded male would have continued regardless of how the other party felt. You hesitated and you stopped me.'

'Well, I'm not a warm blooded male, am I?' He said.

'No, but the meat-suit you're wearingvery much _is_, and you cannot deny an urge so carnal. So come on Crowley, fess up. What's with the hesitation?'

'I don't know.'

Liar.

'Oh _come on_,' she drawled. He shot her an "is it worth it?" look before speaking.

'You're my charge,' he said, choosing his words carefully, 'and I cannot afford to allow any ... messy emotions ... to be involved in our arrangement. This has to be strictly business.'

It was not the answer she wanted to hear. For some stupid reason she convinced herself that maybe he was different; maybe, eventually, some kindly emotion could penetrate his demonic interior. But she wasn't Dorothy, and she couldn't just sit around and wait for the wizard to find him a heart. In all honesties, she did not love him; she couldn't love someone as cruel as he. But the idea that just tonight, just for one stupid, careless, irresponsible night, she could pretend he did, and that he could take away all the pain Ash's death had left behind.

Stupid girl. Demons don't change.

'Put on a wig with a million curls...' she started. He registered the quote immediately.

'...the highest heeled boots on your feet,' he continued.

'And yet you remain, in the end,'

'...just what you are,' they finished together. Even if they were different in every possible way, Faust would always be something they had together. She looked at him, a small smile crossing her lips.

'You should go,' she said weakly. He nodded and disappeared.

'I need to get out of here,' she said to the empty room, shaking her head.

Donning a jacket, she walked out the front door and onto the street, trying to ignore the fact she saw him everywhere she looked.

She was _so_ screwed.

* * *

_A/N_

_-Yay for me writing another chapter! I'm going to admit I have been COMPLETELY ignoring all my uni work. But it's cool; this it totes worth it._

_Also, I was ridiculously close to putting smut in this chapter (as you could probably tell). It's late, and who doesn't enjoy a little nakedness in the evening? Lol. No. But I was yanked back to my senses; it's too early for me to bring this up. I wouldn't want to wake up in the morning (or… later this morning considering its near 2am) regretting my decision._

_For real I'm thinking I'm getting too attached to my characters._

_ANYWAY!_

_Title comes from the line "What lies beyond doesn't worry me" said by Faust as he comes to terms with the fact he's going to hell. Yada yada yada, he doesn't end up going but whatevs._

_Also, the final lines "Put on a wig with a million curls/ Put the highest heeled boots on your feet/ Yet you remain in the end just what you are." Preeeety self explanatory. But it totally fits, right? This is why I love Faust!_

_Please don't love Crowley too much as I do! It's getting harder and harder to write him as a piece of shit demon. I'm TRYING I TELL YOU! I just want to have him sit down, pat Jo on the shoulder and say; 'you know what, it's okay… __" but I won't. Ironically it's because I love the characters _too_ much that I wouldn't stray too far from canon character._

_To those who have been reading and reviewing, thank you so much. But there's still plenty more to come. Would you believe I haven't really introduced the major plot line yet? I'm taking things far slower than I ever thought. Expect about another 10-15 more chapters._

_Anyway, that's it from me. If I missed anything, or anyone's confused, PM me. I'll always get back to you ASAP._

_Also, BETA readers still needed… if you're up for it. Mind, I'm actually crazy, and having to deal with me 1 on 1 would make for an interesting experience on your account._

_Love your face!_

_-thesolitaryone-_

_xXx_


	9. Let Him Who Holds The Devil PART I

_**Chapter 9:**__**Let him who holds the devil hold him still (PART I)**_

It had been two months since Ash's death, and life was staring to repair itself. She found it more difficult that it should have been; having the constant presence of the species responsible for her brother's death did not allow her to feel the closure her mother would have had. Her demon captor worked in sales; it was all she had to not sacrifice herself to return her brother to her. But she couldn't think such things; look where it got the Winchesters.

Yes, she had heard all about the Winchesters. Not from her mother, or from Bobby, or from the boys themselves. She heard it from Crowley, who came to gloat about it as soon as he could. He stole significant glee from the idea of having one of the Winchester boys in the pit, and she knew she would not be able to stomach the reason why. Why him? Why was Dean so important? Never mind. She couldn't worry about it now.

She hated Tuesdays. Every Tuesday her son-of-a-bitch of a boss at the bar rostered her on from 9am til close for, she was sure, no other reason than to stare blatantly at her ass as she completed the daily cleaning rituals. He was twice her age, balding, and sporting a very prominent beer gut which he fed constantly every day via his own product. The amount of stock wastage which went to him every day was near alarming, especially on Tuesdays. No one drinks on Tuesdays; the bar was always dead.

She collapsed onto her couch at almost 11pm, very much glad to be done for the day. All she wanted now was to just close her eyes...

'Wake up sunshine,' came a voice directly in front of her. She screamed and reflexively punched Crowley square in the face.

'Damnit woman!' He yelled, grabbing a towel from the shelves next to the bathroom in an attempt to stem the flow of blood from his nose.

'You're the one who snuck up on a girl, no, a _hunter_ while she was sleeping!' She yelled back. 'Be thankful I didn't have a gun on me.' He stared at her, clearly thinking up some vile retort. He shrugged, obviously deciding against it.

'Fair call,' he said, throwing the towel atop a pile of dirty clothes.

'What'd you want?' She asked tentatively. He handed her a post-it note. 'Oh come on Crowley. You know I hate hunting on Tuesdays.'

'I intended for you to do it tomorrow anyway. I have appointments in the morning which would keep me from making a house call,' he answered. Not in the least bit interested in what those "appointments" entailed, she nodded and placed the post-it on the fridge. By the time she turned back around to face him, he was gone. _Thank God_, she thought to herself, and quickly changed into her pyjamas and went to sleep.

* * *

The mark was just over the border in Eau Claire, so it didn't take her long to track down. It was unusual for Crowley to have her leave the state; usually he liked to keep her close to home. In any other circumstance she would see it as an insult to her hunting expertise, but usually she didn't mind at all. It was easier this way; she had built a home in Duluth, even if Crowley was keeping her chained there. _God_ she hated the bastard.

Or maybe she didn't. She couldn't lie to herself about something like this.

It's a known fact that sex releases a hormone called Oxytocin, noticeable in the male but far more prominent in the female. It's the hormone which causes feelings of ecstasy, warmth and attachment; the physical appropriation of love. It's released after every orgasm.

And the damn bastard made sure she had one every. single. time. Perhaps that was his plan; to make for an unrealistic adoration to keep her attached to him; to trick her into believing the situation she was forced into to be tolerable, preferable, pleasurable. Enjoyable.

Bastard.

Everything would be so much easier if coital relations weren't included in their bargain. She could just hunt for him, and this would just be another job. She could return home every night, fall asleep, and wake up the next morning to do it all again; no complications. But instead, she had to come home to _him_, near every night, and share his bed. Seven months had passed without any messy complications; she did not know how long the honeymoon period would last.

But looking at everything he has put her through, everything she has been forced into, she knew she couldn't love him. And even if she did, regardless of her feelings for him, it would be certain that neither hell nor earth could persuade him to reciprocate them. _Demons can't love, they can only hesitate_.

Yes, love would be a very one-way street.

But she was curious. Curious as to what it would be like to sleep with him, like _actually_ sleep with him. Sex in the personal, not business sense. She'd done more with a lot worse before she'd even met him, and it's gotten to the point where she wouldn't hate the idea of taking him up on his original offer before all her rules came in; before her fear made it all so detached, before _she'd_ decided to take the pleasure out of their business. She knew she couldn't handle the idea of doing it every night; she couldn't handle the idea of _letting_ herself fall in love with him. Maybe just one night she could pretend she was actually in a healthy relationship with someone she _wanted_ to be in a relationship with? She was only human after all.

_Damnit girl_, she growled at herself, _snap out of it. The situation can only be complicated if you let it be_.

She arrived at the apartment complex which housed the mark she was assigned. Despite being five minutes early, she noticed the windows of the flat she was after had being blown out.

'Shit,' she said, rushing out of the car and up the stairs. She reached the place only to find the door ajar. She grabbed her gun and slowly creaked open the door. But, she needn't have worried; the entire place was devoid of life. However, it looked as though someone had dropped an A-Bomb on the floor; the place had been torn apart. Clearly there had been a long struggle.

She turned and walked through the kitchen to the living area, only to find the man she was after. Or, what was left of him. He had been shot several times in the torso and head, and had bled out on the floor. She turned him over and studied his face; he was about 30 years old, fit, and of Islamic descent. She cringed at the look of horror on his face.

Turning around, she saw something which shocked her more than the sight of the dead man lying on the floor; splattered across the wall in what looked like the man's blood was "_Fuck off Arab_". The disgusting display of racism made her want to be sick. However, this did not look like her game, and reached for her phone to call the cops.

'Don't call the police,' came Crowley's voice from behind her.

'It doesn't look like anything supernatural Crowley, more like super-nationalism. Don't think it's our kind of case.' Crowley walked to the shattered window facing the street and wiped his finger across the sill, picking up some powder as he did. He walked back and showed it to her.

'Sulfur,' she stated bluntly. Clearly a demon had been here. She could have slapped herself for jumping to conclusions so quickly. Something didn't add up; why make such a mess? Why kill someone with a mortal weapon then slap a racial slur across the walls? Why would Crowley mix up the times when he never had before? This was one case he had no choice but to give her info on.

'What's the deal Crowley? Why would a demon go to such lengths to cover up his tracks? And why would he bail early? This time I need more information, especially if you want me to go after it.' He nodded; obviously he knew she was right.

'The demon's name is Hastur, a … colleague of mine. He's been gathering followers to make a play for the upper ranks. But I see he anticipated your arrival.'

'Whoa Crowley. You're in a bit over your head with this one; I'm not good enough to take on that sort of a job without backup. I would have been killed!' She was getting angry, _what was he thinking sending me after a thing like this_!

'I had every faith in you,' he said simply.

'Yeah well, that was foolish of you,' she spat. He didn't say anything for a long while, clearly trying to think things through.

'He doesn't surface much, and tracking him is difficult as all hell. Racial slurs are usually his calling card, but they're rare at most. This is the first I've heard of him in months, and I doubt he'll make an appearance any time soon now he knows I'm onto him.'

She remembered, years ago while working the bar, of a hunter discussing a demon with such a style.

'I've heard of it before,' she said, and he looked at her curiously. 'A hunter, Rufus Turner, was tracking a demon after finding an Irishman dead. Apparently he only picks vessels he can defame after to create a racial scapegoat.'

'Well then, we have our next lead,' he said. She could sense he was about to leave.

'Whoa whoa whoa wait! First of all, I'm not going to see Rufus; the man is crazy; and second of all, I'm not going after this demon alone. It's nothing short of suicide.'

'Well then get those bloody Winchesters to go with you! And I'm sure you can find a way to persuade the old hunter to help you; but that's your problem, not mine.'

'Maybe I should just sleep with him…' she said, purely for annoyance. He threw her a "sure, good luck with that" look before she spoke again. 'I've been told he won't talk to anyone without a bottle of Johnny Blue. I don't have $200 just lying around.'

'Not my problem.'

'Okay. We've established you want things done at any cost, so long as it is of no cost to you. But we have _also_ established that you need me, and if I refuse, you _won't_ kill me.'

'Don't be so sure.'

Ignoring him, she continued, seeing how much she can get out of the bargain; 'I will do this for you. But I want a favor from you.'

'What d'you want?' He asked, skeptically.

'At this stage, that's for me to know and you to find out when I'm 100% sure I want it.' Not surprisingly, he looked thoroughly confused.

'Take it or leave it.'

'Take or leave _what_? You haven't bargained for anything!' He growled, clearly frustrated at her ambiguity.

'I'm waiting…' she said, arms folded, tapping her foot on the floor in mock impatience. The glare she received in return was equivocal to a proverbial smack across the face.

'Fine. Whatever. Do what you want. Keep me posted.' He said, disappearing shortly after.

_Win!_ Now the bastard owed _her_.

* * *

_A/N_

_Look at me writing another chapter! Apologies that it's only 2,000 words. Usually I write a good 2,500 to 3,000 but I'm finding spare time to be painfully sparse. I was originally going to join chapter 9 and 10 together, but I don't have time to write the other half, and thought I'd at least give you guys something to last you the painful winter that is writing fan-fiction whilst studying full time and working 30 hours a week at a restaurant._

_I don't know if you caught it, but this chapter is a bit far out left-field to what I've been writing previously (which, I have been planning for ages), and I hope you don't hate me for it!_

_Oh, and you'll be saying hello to the Winchesters soon! Yay! Although that'll be hard to write, considering with Jo with her small amount of screen time it has been easy. It's going to be far harder to keep the boys in character with how developed their canon characters are._

_Love your face! And your reviews! They're epic. I LOVE IT!_

_-thesolitaryone- _

_xXx_

_(P.s. There has been some issues with the spelling/grammar of this chapter when uploading onto the site. I've hopefully fixed everything, but let me know if I haven't)._


	10. Let Him Who Holds The Devil PART II

_I know I said the next part will be a while, but I couldn't resist!_

* * *

_**Chapter 10 :**__**Let him who holds the devil hold him still (PART II)**_

Thankfully working in a bar meant she could score quite significant discounts on whatever liquor she could want. So, where the Johnny should have cost her about $200, she didn't pay more than $100. The perks of working a pub were small, but they did come in handy sometimes. Besides, her creepy ass boss is always more than willing to see her outside of office hours for a favor; in a similar vein to Crowley, he always enjoyed having something over her. Perhaps he was part demon, she wouldn't be shocked.

Rufus lived quite a few states over, and so she would be gone for a few days on the hunt. Crowley wasn't too pleased.

'_We have an appointment in two days, and you'll not miss it,' he warned sternly._

'_My truck is slow, Rufus lives hundreds of miles away, and if I can recall, it was on your orders that I see him in the first place.' He clicked his tongue impatiently._

'_You bargained for that job and I granted you lenience, even if you won't tell me what that bargain entails.' She turned away, not even sure if what she wanted from him would truly be a wise decision. He thankfully did question her further. Perhaps he knew she did not have it in her to request anything overly damaging to him; perhaps he saw her as too weak, too good to bargain for the darkest of requests. Though he couldn't deny the power paradox had shifted in her favor. _

'_If you're not back in two days I will find you, and see our appointment met on the road.'_

_Well, she can't say she didn't see that coming._

She packed a few days worth of clothes into the trunk of her car and set off. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't worried; Rufus was temperamental at the best of times, and he never really looked kindly upon inexperienced hunters. She concocted a convincing back story as to why she knew of the demon, despite his well covered tracks. She only hoped he'd believe her; even hinting to him of her collaboration with Crowley would very quickly find its way back to her mother, not to mention finding herself thrown out on her ass before she got the chance to finish stating his name.

The trip would take just over a day, and she didn't plan on staying at Rufus' for long. But, if Crowley _insisted_ on meeting with her, she would have to rent a motel room. _Bloody hell_, she thought, _the bastard better pay for it_. Working for Crowley, among taxing her emotionally and physically, has started to hit her hip pocket painfully also. Working a bar doesn't pay good money, and she wasn't dishonest enough to run credit card scams like most hunters.

Still, driving for this long gave her opportunity to consider her bargain with Crowley. He owed her a rare favor, and she should think carefully about what she could get out of it. Perhaps a little freedom; perhaps he would let her see Michael? But, would that really work? Could she honestly start a relationship with someone whilst constantly chained to the bed of someone else? There would be no trust, and she could never let herself grow close to him. No. She couldn't do it, she didn't have the heart to involve a third party in her messed up life. It wouldn't be fair.

But then, what about extended lenience? Why not ask of him to reduce the time spent together each week? When the deal was first forged they had sex no more than twice a week. But now it was bordering on four or five times. Why no ask for a retreat to lesser rendezvous? It would sure as hell make life a lot easier for her.

And what about her mother? Her family? Why not just let her return to the Roadhouse for a few days, just to catch up. No assignments to complete, no demons to sleep with, no living in constant fear that a hell damned demon would show up in your face and demand satisfaction. But no, there would be no guarantee that she wouldn't slip up, and that, at then end of the day, she would return to Duluth. To him. If he granted her that freedom, she would not willingly submit herself to servitude again.

He would never let her walk away; she held power over him, yes, but not enough to get her out of it; she was too valuable to him. Otherwise he wouldn't have agreed in the first place.

Her only bet was to ensure he could make the best out of a bad situation.

Maybe she could request of him a night where they could just _be_ together. Like a regular, normal couple. Of course, there was nothing regular about them, but if she could just pretend, then maybe this would all be easier. She can't have a night out with anyone else, and she knew Crowley had it in him to fulfill her request even if he didn't want to.

But could she stomach the thought of it afterwards? He was good at what he did, yes, but could she really submit herself to the pleasurable, intimate attributes of sex with someone she truly resented? She's experienced him do it; her body, time and time again, betrays her where her mind does not. But to render herself completely vulnerable? It scared her.

But couldn't deny it thrilled her right to her core. Imagine what he could be capable of?

_Damn Oxytocins_.

The rest of the road trip passed in a similar vein; her inward struggle of whether or not she could _make love_ to the demon instead of just – for lack of a better term – _fucking_ him.

She made it to Rufus' place early the next morning. She did not sleep, she couldn't. There were too many thoughts running through her brain to even comprehend the idea of rest.

The house wasn't attractive, though no hunter's permanent abode ever was. She was cautious as she walked up the front steps; how would he react to her presence? Noticing the camera staring at her as she approached the front door, she knew it was too late to turn around now. He knew she was there. Go time. She knocked on the front door.

'Rufus?' She called out. There was a scramble behind the wall.

'What do you want?' Came a gruff old voice.

'I have some questions about a demon you were tracking a while ago,' she said. There was no point in beating around the bush about it. The door opened a smidge.

'Don't know don't care! Not interested!' The door slammed.

'It's just,' she yelled, pulling out the bottle of scotch from her bag, 'I have this bottle of scotch on me. Hear it's quite good.' There was a pause. The door opened and he smiled; she tried to ignore the fact he had the crazy eyes.

'Come in Harvelle,' he said. Clearly he remembered her.

He led her to his table and brought out two glasses, cracking the bottle she just gave him.

'You drink it, yes?' He asked. She nodded. 'So you're chasing a demon.' He stated, clearly in a far more accommodating mood than he was before.

'Yes, Hastur.' He gave her a quizzical look, 'I found an Islamic man dead a few days ago with racial vilification on the walls and sulfur remains. I made the connection to a hunt you were on a few years back. Remember it?'

'Yeah yeah I remember it. In over your head aren't you? That's a powerful demon that one.' He said, taking a large gulp from the glass.

'I was planning on getting help from the Winchesters,' she heard him snicker, but ignored it, 'but I need info first. Can you help me out?' She asked. He got up and went to a cabinet just in the other room.

'Here's everything I have on the thing,' he said, opening it over her shoulder. 'I was tracing it a few years back across the Western border, but I lost it somewhere up in Washington. Haven't heard boo from it since.'

'I have intel he's looking to make a power play in the underworld, perhaps he's resurfaced to claim certain parts of the country.' She immediately regretted mentioning so much. He shot her a suspicious look.

'How'd you know that?' He asked.

'I got it out of a demon I had trapped last week.' She lied, trying to affect an ease she did not possess. It was clear he didn't believe her, but thankfully did not press the matter.

'Yeah. Okay. But what makes this thing so hard to find is he changes meat suits regularly. The only real thing we have to go on is they're usually from a persecuted minority, hence the remains.' He pulled out half a dozen photographs from crime scenes of the used vessels; each one had a different scribe on the wall.

'How can you track it?' He let out a laugh.

'It's not easy, but it does have a few real specific demonic signs before it surfaces,' he grabbed a map from a different folder, 'generally you'll find a convergence of two or more electric storms about three hours before he moves in for possession. They tend to disappear after he rises, making it more difficult to see where he's travelling to.' She nodded.

'When's the last time you saw this?' She asked.

'Few days ago over Eau Claire. But I've given up on it. Too hard to find, too hard to kill. I tell you, you've got your work cut out for you girl.' He said.

'Here, keep all this. I don't need it anymore,' he said. She nodded in appreciation. 'Does your mother know what you're doing?' He asked. She panicked.

'N-No.' She stammered.

'Dun worry. I won't tell her. Keep yourself safe Harvelle.'

'Cheers Rufus.' She downed the last of her scotch and left the room. Well, that was easier than she suspected.

But, now for the hard part; confronting Crowley about their bargain.

* * *

They were supposed to meet later that night, but she needed sleep. Badly. She rented a motel room for the rest of the day and collapsed onto the king size bed, falling asleep immediately.

What seemed like five minutes later, Crowley shook her awake. Looking at the clock, she noticed it was past 10pm. She'd slept for 12 hours, something she desperately needed.

'Good evening love.' He said sitting next to her on the bed.

'Surprised you came. Didn't think you'd do motels,' she said, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

'I don't. I just came to get you.'

'Let's just stay. I can't be-be-be bothered leaving,' she yawned, eyes still closed, 'and I want to talk about our bargain.' His head snapped around, clearly interested.

'Did you get the information from the hunter?' He asked. She nodded and pointed lazily to the pile of folders near her overnight bag. She felt his weight leave the bed as he walked to the table. There was silence for about five minutes while he assessed them. She was just about to fall back asleep when he threw a pillow at her. She growled and threw it back.

'No rest for the wicked Harvelle. Now, this bargain?' He asked. She sat up against the headboard, facing him. She was stupidly nervous.

'You won't let me see anyone other than you.' It wasn't a question, 'I've come to terms with it. Whatever. But you need to give me something in return.' She was tiptoeing around it; _just spit it out!_

'I want, for one night to just be _normal_.' He clearly did not understand the concept.

'We're not normal, Har-'

'Yes I _know_ that. I was just thinking that _despite_ our abnormality, we could just spend a night, I don't know,' she was searching for examples, 'kicking back; watching a movie; eating dinner, _normal_ things.'

She didn't know if he was even listening; he still looked annoyed at the fact she'd interrupted him.

'You've deprived me of having anything that resembles normality. So for one night, as per my bargain, we are going to act as a normal couple.'

He looked thoroughly disgusted at the concept.

'No.'

'It's my bargain!'

'Still no.'

She turned away, clicking her tongue in frustration. _Evolution_, not _Revolution_, she said to herself. It _was_ asking a lot for a demon, she conceded.

'Fine. Then for our next appointment, we take the business out of sex.' She said.

'Meaning…?'

'You give me everything I wanted that day after Ash's death; everything you said you couldn't.' She proposed.

'We've been through this,' he said, rising from the bed, 'I physically can't do it.'

'No, you physically _can_, you just _won't_. Demons lie all the time, this shouldn't be any harder for you. Just suck it up, and do it.

'You owe me, as per our agreement. The next time we meet, you _sleep_ with me.' She couldn't fathom the idea of using the vernacular "making love". It sounded too sappy, even for her. He considered her offer, never removing his eyes from her. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before finally speaking.

'Fine. But I'm just warning you; if anything changes, if you let any of your _messy_ human emotions get involved, then you're going to have to deal with them alone. _Nothing _is to change afterwards, I certainly won't, but can you guarantee that you won't either?' He asked.

No. She couldn't guarantee that. It would be impossible for her to guarantee such a thing in the aftermath of what she was asking; her feelings towards him were already mixed; how would they be after a night of passionate sex, instead of detached screwing?

But, for the sake of appearances, she replied steadily, 'you have my word.' He stared at her for a long while, trying to detect any sign of doubt. She gave him nothing. He sighed in obvious defeat.

'Well then I guess our appointment will be re-scheduled for tomorrow night then.'

She got up from the bed and crossed the room to him, grabbing his neck and pulling him into a soft kiss which he returned with a surprising amount of restraint. She pulled away and blinked. He was gone.

_Oh shit_.

Curiosity did kill the cat after all.

* * *

_A/N_:

_The next chapter will be rated M._

_That's all I have to say._

_Squeeeee!_

_-thesolitaryone-_

_xXx_


	11. He loves me loves me not

_Yes, this story is now officially rated M._

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 11: He loves me – loves me not**_

Time, it seemed, did not exist. The next day flew by in an alarming fashion and before she knew it, it was nightfall. Again she felt the pang of nerves she had when confronted with their first sexual encounter. Although this time it was different; there were no rules to concoct or boundaries to erect; they had already been intimate. But it didn't really count; you can be intimate with anyone, but it takes more for actual intimacy to occur.

She'd decided to meet him at the bedroom, to familiarize herself with every aspect of the room before he arrived. Typically, he gave her no ETA, but precedence dictated he'd be there around 10 or so. It was 8pm now, and she had bought her copy of Faust with her to read (or re-read) until he arrived. She opened it to the bookmarked page and began to scan the page.

Something came up behind her, planting small, soft kisses at the gape of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut at the pleasant intrusion.

'You're early,' she stated quietly.

'I assumed we'd have a long night,' he answered, returning to her neck. Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation. _Why was she so excited for this! They were her rules in the first place!_

'If not a spouse, a gallant let it be,' he read, kissing along her shoulder, 'among heaven's choicest gifts, I place,' moving to the top of her neck, 'so sweet a darling to embrace,' and along her jaw line, clearly reading from the page she was on. How fitting.

She stood up, and placed her arms on his sides, tracing the invisible stitching of his very expensive suit up and down. Slowly, she undid his tie, pulling it over his head, and onto the floor, revealing the top two buttons of his shit to be undone. She grabbed the sides of his jacket and pulled them towards her, backing slowly towards the bed, not once taking her eyes off him. She sat on its side and pushed the jacket off, allowing it to fall to the ground in a heap.

In that move he pressed his lips against hers, softly, damply, barely touching. She was surprised at how delicate he could be; gentle explorations over outright barraging. He pushed her onto her back, running his hands up her slender spine and down to her hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck in response, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He slowly lay down next to her, pulling his legs up on the bed underneath hers, accepting her weight on top of him. Before she knew it each of her knees rested on either side of him, straddling him completely.

The evolution of their positions had made pinpointing exactly when she felt a solid mass at his groin difficult, but considering the sheer number of clothes between them it became understandable. His hands reached around, grabbing her backside and grinding it against his rapidly hardening groin. She let out a soft yelp, as the wave of a minor tremblor washed through every part of her. Catching her before she fell down the far side of the wave, he thrust up again, causing a more intense shudder to wash through her. Her whole body felt as though it was on vibrate; she was so close.

Ending their kiss, he lifted his head from the bed to press his mouth to her throat, part his lips, and gently bite her on the neck. The simple, carnal act sent her over the edge as an earth shattering orgasm overcame her. She moaned loudly, pressing her forehead against his, unable to do anything but wait for the solid wall of pleasure to crumble from her veins.

Finally she could think clearly again and opened her eyes, only to see a very smug smile across his face.

'You're not even naked yet,' he gloated. Scoffing, she kissed him again, subconsciously thrusting at his groin, making him cry out. '_Goddamnit, _Something needs to be done about this.' He urged her to an upright position, making it far easier to remove the rest of the clothing between them. She was merely wearing shorts and a shirt. He, however, still had half a suit on.

In a fervent manner, they started tearing off each other's clothing. His buttons proved more of an issue than her top, but in mere seconds they were each topless. He turned her over onto her back, kissing her slowly from her neck downwards to her front-clasp bra. He undid it easily, immediately taking one breast in his mouth, sucking gruffly. Her body arched underneath him in approval, and he pulled his other hand up to massage the other. He nuzzled the bud of her nipple with the stubble on his jaw, and licked the soft, somewhat flattened mound, sagging simply because she was lying on her back. She could feel his hands roam to the crotch of her shorts, massaging every inch of her thighs, but frustratingly, not quite the centre. Moving his lips down to her stomach, he stopped at the button of her denim shorts. He undid it swiftly, and pulled them down her legs. He snickered at the revelation that she had no underwear on.

He planted small kisses in a trail from her inner thighs upwards towards her aching core. Wasting no time, he dove in, licking at every inch of her groin. He inserted two of his fingers, curling them upwards towards her very erogenous G spot, sending her into a pleasure spree again. She could feel all coherent thought scatter as he teased her clitoris with his tongue, dancing with it against the nub of flesh whilst continually flexing his fingers subtly inside her. Little orgasms rippled through her flesh, crunching her stomach muscles and spasming through her thighs. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking it in quick successions, causing her to come apart on the bed again, more forcefully than before.

After one solid lap of his tongue like an affectionate Labrador, he rose from her nether regions, pants nowhere to be seen. He kissed her again, and she could taste the sweet musk of her own dew on his tongue. Their kisses became far more vigorous, with a sense of lascivious urgency they did not have before. He ran his hands down the right side of her body to her leg, and pull it up over his shoulder, rubbing his staff up and down against her very wet opening. Positioning himself correctly, he pushed into her, causing both of them to cry out in pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer, as he ground into her slowly, yet purposefully several more times. But it wasn't enough, she needed _more_. _Time to speed things up_.

Pulling her leg down, she forced him over, settling herself atop him, meeting his mouth once more. She felt him thrust up against her, but she stopped him, putting a finger to his lips.

She reached around and grabbed his member, now coated in her own juices, and rubbed it up and down, watching his eyes squeeze shut in a solid effort not to explode. She gradually squeezed her hands tighter, and her motions faster, enjoying the animalistic growl he exhaled every time she reached the head. For her own safety at his growing intolerance, she decided she'd tortured him enough, and positioned herself over him, slowly pressing down.

He responded eagerly, meeting every grind of hers in matched synchronicity. But still, it wasn't enough; she needed more, and she felt as though he was being deliberately soft with her. Experimentally, she flexed the Kegel muscles surrounding his shaft, tightening her inner walls. It tipped him over the edge as she knew it would; letting out an angry growl, he threw her over, and slammed into her, harder and faster in response to her impatience; every movement coupled by a stiff, reverberating moan. Over and over, he'd withdraw almost entirely, then drive near painfully home. His movements became rougher, messier, and uncontrollable, forcing her body to arch up in rising pleasure. She could feel a another release building up just as fast, just as hard until she could feel her vaginal walls contracting, pulsating at the combined strength of her third orgasm and his continued fervent movement. Her entire body seized up, sending spasm after spasm through her body, leaving no point untouched; she got the distinct feeling she would never feel her toes again.

Her last orgasm sent him over the edge, crying out in climax, he spilled his seed all through her, slowly thrusting until he was expended. Panting, he collapsed next to her, both of them remaining silent as they tried to regain the energy to speak.

'Well,' he said, trying to catch his breath, 'I didn't know you had it in you.'

'And you,' she replied, propping herself up on one arm, gently rubbing his chest. She was genuinely impressed; their usual rendezvous' were indeed pleasurable, but this… this didn't compare. It was _mind blowing_; she was honestly not expecting him to be so attentive to her needs before his own. He was a demon for crying out loud; it's quite possible they're the most selfish creatures in existence. She got up and straddled him again, kissing him from his neck down towards his chest and stomach.

'Mmm we should do this more often,' she said, stretching her hands to his head. He grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

'This is only for one night. You know this.' Her eyes narrowed.

'If you're not going to allow me to sleep with other people for the rest of my life, then yes, you do _owe_ me as such.' She said, pulling her hands away from him, and moving her lips slowly toward his groin. 'And, out of curiosity, why _can't_ I have any other partners?' She was pleased, yet surprised to see that where his penis was flaccid mere seconds ago, it had begun to harden again under her advances.

'You don't need the -' he sucked in breath as she took him in his mouth, cutting his reply in half, '_-distractions_.' He shuddered under her pressure. She continued to suck, lick, and lap at his member like a child with a lollypop, gradually getting faster. She replaced her mouth with her hand as she continued, 'no lying now Crowley. Admit it! Admit you want me _all _to yourself.' Her ministrations with her hands got faster and tighter, freeing her mouth to suck on his abandoned scrotum. His panting got deeper; it shocked her he could get any words out at all.

'You're – just – my – _Oh FUCK Jo_!' He cried out. His hips were bucking under her, and she knew she only had a small window of opportunity. Just as she sensed he was about to finish, she pressed down on his perineum, forcing his resulting orgasm to be completely dry. His body tensed under the entirely new sensation, and he shot her an exasperated look.

'Got a few tricks up your sleeve Harvelle?' He said, thoroughly out of breath. She raised an eyebrow in wicked acknowledgement, but said nothing. Returning to his still very erect member, she studied it briefly; it was of average length, but thick and strong. _Perfect size_, she reluctantly admitted to herself.

She engulfed top half entire in her mouth, swirling her tongue around its mushroom head. He caught his breath in pleasure again as the pressure began to build up for the second time.

'_Say it_,' she said sternly, 'Say you need me _all to yourself_. Say you couldn't _stand_ the thought of someone else touching me. _Say it_!' His body bucked again, needing release, but she caught it just in time, applying the same force to his perineum as before. His climax was again completely devoid of any physical consequence.

'_Dear God woman. Let. Me. Come!'_ He yelled at her, throwing his head back onto the bed. She smirked to herself, 'not until you _say it_!' He might have her locked in a contract for the rest of her life, but at this point, she had him by the balls.

This time she went all the way, engulfing his entire member right to the hilt, while simultaneously rubbing his sacks underneath. He hissed in pleasurable frustration as he involuntarily began to thrust into her mouth. But she would not let him come, not until he told her what she wanted to hear. The pressure was building again.

'This can go on all night Crowley! Admit it! You want to be my _only_ lover' She warned, fisting his member violently, once again pressing her lips to the head. His eyes were wild as they shot a furious look at her.

She grasped him with one almighty _squeeze_.

'Ah God _YES_! You are _mine_! Mine mine mine mine _MINE_! Only _I_ can ever touch you!' Satisfied with his response, she rose up and caught his mouth with hers. He roughly pushed her over and thrust home, pounding her frantically, angrily. She cried out in the sheer ecstasy of it all, finding her own orgasm creeping up, flooding over her. The act was so carnal, so lewd, so saturated with wanton lust; this wasn't _making love_, or having _sex_, this was pure, unadulterated _fucking_. He thrust into her one last time, sending them both over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Her body felt as though it was on fire; every inch of her was alive, alert, awakened. She closed her eyes, trying to retain as much of the feeling as possible, but she could already feel it fading. But tomorrow she knew everything would be stiff and sore; they'd had quite a work out.

He was still on top of her, still lodged inside her, trying to regain the motivation to move. But she needed to; there was an ensuite next to the bedroom, and a shower was definitely required. Finally, he slid off and out of her.

'I need to shower,' she said. He nodded. She rose up and walked into the bathroom; she had never been in here before. Usually she just came and left the room; with as little contact as absolutely necessary. But tonight, for obvious reasons, was different. Very different. She actively didn't _want_ to leave.

This was not a good sign; he warned her against this. She cannot fall for him; he could never love her in return. But, tonight is just tonight; the time for worrying about what happens next is for tomorrow. For now, she'd just enjoy it.

The warm water contrasted vividly against her cold skin. She understood that Crowley was a demon and all, but couldn't he put the heater on? The only thing keeping her warm in that bedroom was the heat projecting from his body. As she closed her eyes and allowed the water to wash over her, she heard someone enter the shower behind her.

'I thought you never showered,' she said, not opening her eyes.

'I do so enjoy watching you though,' he said, grabbing her waist and kissing the back of her neck. She shivered, despite the water being hot. He grabbed the bath towel hanging on the shower rack, and soaked it in soap, washing every inch of her body, starting from her arms, stomach, breasts, down to her back, ass, legs. She gasped as he passed over her groin area and shuddered as the feeling reverberated through her entire being. _This is not helping my cause_, she said to herself. She could feel something poking at the small of her back.

'Dear God man, you're as randy as a teenager,' she said, admiring his stamina.

'Let's just say I have inspiration,' he replied, turning her around and kissing her under the running water. It came as no surprise that Crowley had indeed come in to satiate one of his seemingly infinite erections and twenty minutes later, they found themselves back in the bedroom.

She started to dress herself with the clothes scattered in various places on the floor, but, as she began to put on her shorts, she felt Crowley grab her arm.

'No. You'll sleep here tonight.' He said, pulling her toward the bed. She was skeptical; somewhat because she didn't want to confuse herself further over her feelings for him, but mostly because the covers were only very thin, and this room was damn cold. But, she nodded, and allowed him to lead her.

Getting under the covers, she rested her shower-dampened head on the pillow, only just now realizing how tired she actually was. She felt him lay down next to her, his warmth spreading across the sheets. Moving away to give him more room, he stopped her and pulled her into him, draping his leg and arm over and locking her against him. 'Mmm. Mine,' he said in her ear, tugging her small frame close. Smiling very reluctantly, she drifted off into a deep slumber.

She didn't even think demons slept.

* * *

_A/N_

_Smutty smut smut smut. 3,000 words of it with very little plot. Hope you enjoyed it! I've never written smut before, like ever. It took me an ungodly amount of time to do, but IT'S DONE! Yaaay._

_Seriously. I'm not going to lie. I have completely abandoned all my uni work for this. But not for long; this definitely _will_ be the last chapter for a good while. I just really wanted to get it up; I promised smut months ago. And a good smut chapter should last you the long, dry winter that will be no updating from me._

_Yes, the title is from Faust. Said by Gretchen as she ponders whether or not Faust does actually love her._

_The act of applying pressure to the perineum is actually a thing. It's the closest external area to the prostate, and can inhibit the flow of ejaculate, therefore allowing the man to last longer. An ejaculation is not needed for a climax. That's your fun sex-ed fact for the day folks! _

_I'm not going to lie, the reviews I have been getting are AMAZING! You're the reason I got this up so quickly. I didn't want to disappoint! I hope I didn't :-/. But do let me know if you like it/what you don't like about it; writing usual fic is one thing, but I would like to know if I should make some improvements on the smut side of things. Its all so new to me. _

_Also, I haven't decided if there will be smut early on next chapter. But that's for later to decide. Right now, I'm abandoning this story for at least a week or two to play team catch-up with my uni work._

_Love you all x 1,000!_

_-thesolitaryone-_

_xXx_


	12. Suppose You Break this World to Bits

_**Chapter 12: Suppose you break this world to bits**_

She slept well; better than she had in a long time. There was something comforting about the fact that the reason for her insomnia was sleeping soundly right next to her. It's not like he could wake her for a job; she was already on one.

There was no light penetrating the room, suggesting the sun had still not risen, and so the bargain had not yet concluded. There was still time to savour the moment…

_No_. _Get out now_, her mind screamed to her. It seemed every sensible part of her conscience was pressing for her to leave, to put this night behind her and try to return to normality. Or, at least, to reality. But she did not move; she had no desire to leave. There was not a single place in the world she would rather be at the moment.

The revelation scared her to no end. Maybe if she just sat down and explained everything; reminded him of her humanity, of the mortality he did not share. Perhaps he would grant her lenience, perhaps he could be kinder…

_The devil is an egoist I know; _

_And, for heaven's sake, 'tis not his way; _

_Kindness to anyone to show._

_Let the condition plainly be exprest!_

_Such a domestic is a dangerous guest._

_Demon's can't love, they can only hesitate._

_God-damn-lord-hell, _she cursed. Life clearly enjoyed taking a good dump on her as of late.

Somewhere through the night they had drifted apart, but she felt him turn next to her, pulling her against him again. For someone who once said he'd never be the big spoon, he sure as hell liked to have her close. But as she allowed herself to be pulled in, she felt a very distinct poking at her back. Clearly he had the very common occurrence of a morning hard on.

Much and all as she wanted to stay and give him a hand (literally), she could see a fragment of light peaking through the curtains; the sun was about to rise. It would be better if she was gone before he woke up; it would be hard enough to leave as it was without another sexual encounter to etch into the bedpost.

Very carefully, she slid her thin frame out from underneath his arm. He grunted, still unconscious, and rolled back over. Thinking she was in the clear, she sat up, slowly lifting her weight from the bed. Turning away from him, she went on a hunt for her clothes when,

'Ahem, take care of this for me, would you?' He said from behind her, lying on his back with his hands resting behind his head. The position made for a very definite tenting of the sheets around his groin.

'The sun's up. I need to go; you'll have to do it yourself,' she said, finding her clothes and donning them.

'You can stay. I don't mind.' She shook her head in response. Gathering everything she needed, she went up to him, planting a farewell kiss on his lips.

'Thankyou,' she started, 'for last night.'

'Here,' he said sleepily, sitting up, 'I'll take you home.' It was kind of him, but unnecessary.

'No. I'll walk. I need the fresh air,' she returned, walking to the door.

'I'll be out of town until next week. Enjoy your time off, Harvelle,' she heard him say from behind her. By the time she'd turned around, he was gone, along with his clothing.

The painful reality was that she would not enjoy it at all. She loved him, there was no getting away from it now. The events of the previous night had intensified any feelings she had for him; he was just so considerate, so … different. Everything he said and did showed a kind of honesty she didn't believe he possessed, a kind of honesty she didn't believe _most_ men possessed. It wasn't really the truth, but his _own_ truth. She couldn't explain it, even to herself really, it was just a gut feeling.

Before the night even began, she'd planned on leaving all emotion, all lingering doubt, and pretty much all the events that transpired in that room behind her as she walked through the door. She had every other time, this _shouldn't_ be any different.

But, typically, it was. Shadows of affection, passion, ecstasy and desire; of despair, melancholy, sorrow and desperation all followed her home. Waves of emotion flooded her in a way in which nothing else had in her entire life. There was no escaping it; he had, so many months ago, bargained for her soul, and now he had her heart.

And she had nothing.

* * *

'I love him.'

It was the first time Jo had spoken to anyone since she left that room. Juanita stood there, staring, confused at first but au courant after a few seconds. She walked up to her, leaning against the bar and rubbing her arm in silent consolation.

'It's okay-'

'No it's not!' Replied Jo for forcefully than was necessary, running her hands through her hair. 'It is most definitely _not_ okay; you don't know what he's capable of,' she cried. 'But I can't get out. I was too much of a coward when I met him; I couldn't say no. Good _God_, why didn't I say no?' Her eyes swam with tears unbefitting of her lifestyle. She was ashamed of herself in every possible way; for every decision she had made; for every tear she had shed; for every mark she killed; for every time she entered into that bedroom, allowing herself to fall victim to his horribly suave, yet painfully irresistible advances. She was ashamed of the thrill she got knowing he _owned _her, that she was _his_. That wasn't love, it was possession; but she couldn't tell the difference right now.

Juanita didn't say anything, nor did Jo expect her to; how could you possibly respond in this situation? Jo just stood there, hunched over the empty bar, balling her eyes out. She was grateful for Juanita's comfort; all she needed at this point was a friendly ear, someone to just stand there without judgment. She finally composed herself enough to speak;

'You must think I'm such a mess,' there was a slight pause as Juanita pulled her arm and made Jo face her.

'I think you're human,' she said, laying a comforting hand on Jo's shoulder, 'and _that's_ okay.'

'I just… I just don't know what to do,' said Jo weakly. Juanita smiled in an understanding sort of way.

'I think you need to keep quiet for a while, just until you can settle back down. If this guy is as dangerous as you say he is, being honest with him is not something you would want to do right now. Be patient, give him time; eventually maybe he'll fall in love with you too.'

This is why Jo had a lot of time for Juanita; she never questioned, she never pushed. She never told Jo what to feel, or what to do. She was like the voice of reason in Jo's head when her own was absent.

Of course she couldn't tell Juanita the truth about Crowley, about why he could never love her. But she was right all the same; it would not do for Crowley to be enlightened on her feelings at this point. She just needed to suck it up, and focus on the business side of their arrangement or it would be too difficult.

Someone came through the front door, forcing them both to compose themselves enough to serve their first customer for the day. Jo, still a mess, retreated to the bathroom to clean up a touch, leaving Juanita to play bartender. Reaching the mirror she assessed her features; her eyes were slightly blotchy, though not as bad as she imagined, but her cheeks were thoroughly flushed. Splashing her face with water, she overheard the conversation between Juanita and the customer.

'I need to speak with Harvelle.' That was Crowley's voice. What was he doing back so soon? And why was he here, during the _day_ of all times? _Oh God_, Jo thought to herself, _come on girl, pull it together_. Content with the state of her very recently crying face, she entered the bar.

'What's wrong?' She asked, looking concerned.

'The situation we were dealing with in Eau Claire,' he said, clearly skating around the topic for the benefit of Juanita, 'is here. Now. Come with me.' She didn't think twice; grabbing her personal belongings she made to leave the bar.

'Wait, Jo. What's going on? Are you sure about this?' It was Juanita.

'I have to go. I'll only be an hour.'

'Jo-'

'Juanita! I'll be fine,' she reassured her friend, putting on her jacket. She nodded as Jo walked around the bar to swiftly leave with behind Crowley. As they entered the street, she pressed for more details.

'Where're we going?' She asked ferverently.

'North 36th.' She stopped dead in her tracks.

'But that's only two streets away!' She replied, frightened. 'What the blood hell is he doing here?'

'I don't know, but that's why we,' he forcibly pulled her arm to make her continue walking, 'need to get there _now_.'

'There were no signs though.'

'Looks like our _buddy_ is better at covering his tracks than we thought.'

Less than thirty seconds later they arrived at the scene. An Asian man had been thrown through a third floor building window to his death. Jo crouched down, turning the man over. He had a gunshot wound through his back; looks like the fall didn't kill him after all.

'Racial vilification?' She asked Crowley.

'No.'

'Then how do you know it's our guy?' She asked, looking up at him, but finding him missing. Rolling her eyes, she returned to the man's body, pulling a wallet out of his pants. _Edison Tuong_, but his driver's license was from New York. Looks like he was hauled here demonically.

Crowley appeared in front of her. 'Sulfur in the apartment,' he said, spreading the fine powder across his hand. She looked back down at the body and frowned.

'There haven't been any electrical storms anywhere across the eastern states; it's not like a demon can just change the way the earth reacts to their presence.'

'They can if they possess someone fast enough, if they have a specific target in mind rather than openly searching for a suitable one. Storms are the consequence of a prolonged exposure of demons in their primitive form, not the one they assume once they affix with a vessel.' She raised her eyebrows in surprise at his complete openness. He looked at her curiously.

'What's with the look Harvelle?'

'I'm always shocked when you enlighten me on _anything_ to do with a case.'

'Well, get used to it then. This isn't a normal case, and Hastur isn't a normal mark. Hey, what's that?' Crowley asked, pointing to a slip of paper in the man's breast pocket. Jo carefully pulled it out, finding it unfolding into a map. The city of Lincoln, Nebraska was circled, with an address and a time for the following week notated under it.

'Location of his next resurfacing?' She asked, handing the map up to Crowley.

'Or, it's a trap,' he replied. She registered that his take on the newfound lead was probably more accurate.

'Well, regardless, if there's a chance he'll be there we need to go.' She said, standing up finally, dusting off her jeans. He sneered.

'How unlike you to be so trigger-happy.'

'I won't take the risk of people getting hurt. And besides, it's clearly important to you so…' she trailed off, immediately wishing she hadn't spoken the second the words escaped. He threw her a dangerous look she couldn't quite read, but softened back to his usual hard self within seconds, making her wonder if she had imagined it in the first place. There was a silence.

'I guess it's time I call the Winchesters.' She said, and he nodded.

'Keep me posted,' he replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket and walking away. She, in turn, pulled her own cell out to notify the authorities of another horrific murder.

* * *

She didn't bother returning to work that night, the bar was dead and she had things to do at home. But the minute she saw another three bills in her mailbox she regretted that decision. It was definitely going to be a tight month.

Walking through the door with the envelopes in her mouth to free up her hands, she threw her handbag and jacket on the couch and placed the very unwelcome statements on the desk. _Great_, she thought, _that's another $250 I'll never see again_. Sometimes she debated whether it was really worth having heating.

'You promised me you wouldn't change.'

Her heart dropped to somewhere near her feet. _Shit shit shit shit shit shit_, she cursed to herself. She still had her back to him, and her knuckles whitened as she desperately clung to the desk to prevent her legs from buckling under her. So he knew? Bloody hell, of course he did. She could feel the white-hot tears stinging her eyes, and it took every fiber of her being to force them back.

'I-I don't know what you're talking about,' she stammered, knowing her reply was weak. Feeling as though she had enough composure to face him, she turned around, attempting to stare him down. She knew, however, that he saw straight through her.

He looked down and shook his head, saying more to himself, 'I knew this would happen.' He turned away from her.

'Knew what would happen?' She asked in reply, moreso to save face than anything.

'You know _exactly _what I'm talking about. You let your messy, complicated, deal-destroying emotions get in the way of business.' His voice was filled with disgust, offending her to her very core. How _dare_ he come and spit such vile contempt at her. Juanita was right, she was_ only_ human for crying out loud!

'No, you know what?' She asked, stepping towards him, 'I put up with your shit every single day. I do what you want, when you want, and say very little to the contrary,' he scoffed but she ignored him, 'and so for you to stand there and get all high and mighty about my feelings for you, _which_, for your information you have very much fostered after the other night, when you were _so_ disappointed after I placed rules on our coital arrangements is so goddamn hypocritical it borders on ridiculous.

'This is a two-way relationship Crowley. Yes, I said _relationship_,' she added after he shot her a vile look, 'because _that's _what this has become. I can't just wake up each day, knowing my life has been given to a _demon_ without allowing myself to at least _believe _I can take some small emotive pleasure from it all.

'_I. am. human._' She finished. He was quiet for a minute; she could almost hear the gears churning in his head as he thought of his next retort. Finally, he spoke;

'How often do I grant you lenience?' He asked, quite calmly. The question was so unexpected she was thoroughly taken aback.

'What?'

'How often, particularly when the deal was first made, do I grant you lenience?' He asked again.

'Never. If you did we wouldn't be having this discussion.' She was surprised at how calm she was as well. He nodded.

'Exactly. So, do you really think I'd have accepted your rules, in turn granting you _concessions_, if I had not though them necessary to keep our arrangement explicitly formal? I have _told _you that I am perfectly satisfied with the direction of our agreement, yet you still push the idea that _you_ have some form of control here. _You don't_, sweetheart. You still seem to fail at grasping this simple fact; I get what I want from you, when I want. It has always been that way,' his words were steadily getting more heated, 'if I want to touch you, I will touch you; If I want to kiss you, I will kiss you; If I want you to get down on your knees in front of me, you will _do. as. I. say_!'

'So if that's true, then why did you allow me to bargain with you four nights ago huh? If I am bound in servitude to such an extent, why even _bother_?' She returned, her cheeks flushing with apoplexy.

'Because frustratingly you seem to have cottoned onto the fact that you are more valuable to me alive than dead, and so I gave you what you wanted this _once_, but,' in retaliation to her building retort he pressed on, 'you are not _so _valuable that I can't and _won't_ resort to more extreme means to _get what I want_!' He threatened.

'_YOU CAN'T DO THIS!_' She was screaming now, furiously running her hands through her hair. 'You can't just _expect _this arrangement to continue as per usual! _THIS ISN'T FAIR!_'

'You know what _sweetheart_, life isn't fucking fair. Not even close. I _warned_ you, as soon as you brought up your goddamn bargain that _this is how it was_. Any issues you have with our continued meetings are to be dealt with _alone_. I have _no_ sympathy and I have _no_ patience for this kind of pathetic weakness. _Deal_ with it, or spend a hell of a lot of time dwelling on feelings _I. can't. reciprocate_!

'Either way, in two nights time, you will _come_ to me and share my bed willingly, _regardless_ of where your head is at!'

They stood there, hate's eyeball-to-eyeball race sending sparks through the thick air.

She blinked, and he vanished. Typically.

She fell to the floor in a heap, sobbing. So many times over the past few months she believed she had hit rock bottom, but somehow her hole kept getting deeper. The man she freely admitted to herself that she loved merely days ago had just proverbially beaten her to the ground. Nothing could compare to this.

How could she have allowed this to happen? How could she allow it to go this far? She'd let him suck her in, only to have him spit her back out.

_Goddamnit girl, you're Jo Harvelle! Pull yourself together!_

She wouldn't let him win. She couldn't.

Her tears slowly subsided, and she was able to pull herself into a standing position. Somehow, she had managed to pull the rest of herself together as well.

If there is one thing Crowley has taught her it's the value of power. He proved to have an incapacitating amount over her, but the time has come for a leadership spill. He's not going to get away with this.

Not this time.

* * *

_A/N_

_Suuup!_

_So I've been writing again! Yay! _

_Actually, I just finished work, so this is 2am. I started writing this chapter about a week ago, and just finished it. I haven't got my roommate to beta it yet 'cause she's away, so if you find any mistakes, give me a buzz and I'll get rid of them._

_Title thanks to Faust as well of course! Very fitting, considering Crowley tore Jo's world to pieces in the end. Perhaps. Slight cliffhanger? Yeah. Sorry. Or not so much. I'm really not a nice person :-P._

_Also, the snippet of Faust in the beginning is really an extension of the quote "__The Devil is an egoist I know: And, for Heaven's sake, 'tis not his way, Kindness to anyone to show", and I deemed it appropriate for the rest of the paragraph to be included. Mostly because it fits in really well with the situation. _

_BTW, I feel as though I need to apologise. You guys seem to want a nice Crowley._

_Please keep in mind he is not nice. He is never nice. He's a demon and therefore is out to benefit only himself._

_I haven't decided if I'll allow him to soften a bit later on, but it looks doubtful._

_DON'T HATE ME :-/. It had to be done. The story needs to progress._

_But as a peace offering, I will include more smut later on. I just really enjoyed it last time; I loved the challenge. _

_I'm now realizing that the political term "leadership spill" is very Australian. Basically it means people voting out their leader to spill their blood, so to speak (in Australia, only elected officials from the party in question can do it. Happened last year to Kevin Rudd. That's why we now have a female PM. Yes, this shit happens here. Kevin Rudd just sucked that much.). In relation to the story, Jo wants to overturn Crowley and upset the balance of power. Woo!_

_Also, I'm heading away for other work in a few weeks, but I'll hopefully get another chapter up before then! I don't know how much time I'll get when I'm there is all. And then I have 3 uni essays due when I get back to C-berra… gah! Moral of the story; DON'T BITE OFF MORE THAN YOU CAN CHEW!_

_Also, I think I abuse the A/N section. I should really stop doing that. Really, this is like a page long in Word._

_Your reviews have been amazing. You guys keep me writing, which has never really happened with a fic before._

_So KUDOS TO YOU!_

_Ash out!_

_-thesolitaryone-_

_xXx_


	13. In Revelry You Drown

_**Chapter 13: In Revelry you Drown**_

Yep, she was drunk.

This wasn't even one of those "whoops, we had too many staffies after work" or "I shouldn't have gone out, but my mates convinced me" situations. No, she was stone cold, stumbling over the floor, can't-make-out-the-words-on-the-TV drunk. Alone. At her apartment. Three guesses why.

She couldn't even say this was the first time over the past week she'd found herself like this. Drinking was an easy escape; it was the natural "go-to" fix for hunters. _Come on Jo_, _are your really a hunter anymore? _There was no denying it, if there was such a thing as the "hunter's code", she would have broken every rule in the book. Hunting for a demon isn't really hunting, not in the sense she'd grown up with.

But, one thing she had in common with all the hunters she had known was her borderline alcoholism. In her drunken haze she had come up with a new theory on the affliction; there were different kinds of alcoholics: Those who drank because they physically needed to (textbook alcoholics), those who drank because they emotionally needed to (hunters and/or those who are deal-damned to be a demon's bitch), and students ('It's not alcoholism until you graduate!' Juanita rule). She suddenly burst out laughing.

'You're a mess.' Crowley stated, leaning against the kitchen counter.

'No, _you're_ a mess,' she replied, giggling. It was the first time she had seen him in a week. Since the _incident_, as she euphemistically referred to it, where he proverbially smacked her to the ground after being enlightened on her feelings for him. He had threatened to pull her to his bed mere days afterward, but he, for reasons unknown to her, refrained. It had not helped; in actualities it had achieved the opposite.

He looked at her, lips tightly pressed together before sighing. 'Alright, enough'. He strode across the room towards her, hooking his arms under her legs and hoisting her up, carrying her to the bedroom. The gales of laughter became uncontrollable as he dropped her to the bed, not bothering to remove any clothing, and walked back to the door.

'Sober up. We'll talk in the morning.'

'Wait,' she said in a small voice, sitting up, 'you can stay if you want'. He shot her a dark look and disappeared.

'Guess that's a no,' she said, passing out cold on the pillow.

* * *

_Oh shite_.

She woke with a familiar headache and severe need to throw up, but it was not the reason for her panic. She couldn't recall much from the previous night, but of all the things she did remember, it was the look of utter disgust and disappointment in Crowley's eyes as he picked her up off the floor and put her to bed which made her feel sicker than any hangover could. Where else whenever they fought she had retaliated with anger, violence and witty retorts, here she just looked pathetic, beaten, and wallowing in self-pity. She deserved his disgust; this wasn't _her_. He had brokered for her soul because of her strength, independence and defiance in the face of adversity. But now?

Dear God. She needed to pull herself together. She was a _Harvelle_. _Harvelle's don't need to be picked up off the floor_!

She knew he would appear at any moment, and so quickly made for the bathroom to shower away the stench of cheap whiskey from her pores. Alcohol always seems such a sweet escape at the time…

The shower curtain was thrown open hastily, making her jump and instinctively cover herself.

'Out. Now.' He was not amused, slamming the bathroom door on his way out.

Well, she couldn't say she wasn't expecting it. Swiftly wrapping her dressing gown around her still-wet body, she opened the door to face him. He was resting against the back of the desk chair, a glass of scotch whiskey in hand and a pensive expression drawn across his near middle-aged face. Despite his seeming anger before, when he spoke it was with neutrality, as if he did not want to rile her up;

'If this shame spiral you're heading down is anything to go by, it is clear that I cannot simply employ the tough love speech to eradicate this problem.' His words sounded rehearsed, unusual for him. Perhaps he was as nervous as she. 'In order for this arrangement to continue, we need to come to a … understanding.'

She nodded, but said nothing as he continued; 'I'm not going to give you anything you've asked for, inadvertently or not, but I will allow you the chance to,' he seemed to have difficulty with the next few words, '_talk_ about what's been bothering you.' She raised her eyebrows, not really registering what he was offering. So in response to the almost complete admittance of her love for him, he would be her bloody _therapist_ for a day and expect it to be over with?

'No', she said simply, 'I'll deal with it on my own thank you.'

'Because that has clearly worked so well for you?' She saw him catch himself before he allowed the demon in him to take over. Returning to the calm demeanor he adopted before, he continued 'I've been seeing you drink yourself half to death each night. You can't deal with this by yourself and I am _offering_ to help you.'

'I don't need your pity.'

'Well then I'm not leaving until you do.' He said, moving to sit on the couch and pulling up the newspaper he had tucked under his arm.

'Fine.' She spat back through gritted teeth. She turned around and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door angrily as she did. Was he serious? Was he actually thinking she would just sit out there and play Dr. Phil with him? She wasn't that kind of girl, he wasn't that kind of demon, and this wasn't that kind of relationship. This was a "bottle everything up for as long as possible until screaming matches occur" understanding which he would do well to remember at this point. Even if she could get over the humiliation of falling for someone like _him_, how could she just lay all the cards on the table like that? It was one thing to be vulnerable to him physically, but quite another to be vulnerable emotively.

She heard him turn the pages of his newspaper, signaling that he was indeed still waiting for her and was not merely bluffing. Sucking up all her prejudices against this kind of thing, she marched purposefully out of the bathroom and sat herself on the arm of the settee facing him. Watching her every move as she entered the room, he folded back up the paper and turned to face her as well, not saying a word. She became vividly aware of the fact she was still naked and dripping wet.

If this little intervention of his was going to work, she would need to ease her way into the hard topics, and decided to focus on him to begin with.

'You didn't call me to your bed after the fight. Why?' She tried as hard as possible to keep as much emotion from her voice as possible. The strain to do so made it crack noticeably, negating any effect she was seeking.

'Two reasons. Firstly you were blind drunk before the sun had even gone down and I prefer you to be of sound mind when I see you, and secondly, I believed it would be detrimental to the success of our arrangement for you to harbor any continuing emotions for me, and I decided I would forgo seeing you this once to pull yourself together. I can't have a distracted hunter, it'll make you sloppy.' She knew he was being honest, he generally preferred silence or withholding information to lies. It was one of his very few better qualities.

'Interesting. Here I would have thought you'd choose sex over anything else.'

'Not if it were to have adverse effects on the hunt. It is the most important thing after all.' He clicked his tongue, obviously debating how to ask the next question. 'I'm going to need something cleared up here, Harvelle. How deep does your emotional attachment run for me?'

There it was, the question she wanted to avoid because she barely knew how to answer it. She knew how hard this conversation was for him, and it proved how important she was too him that he would even go through it at all. It was moments like this which made hating him so difficult; every now and then he would show a spark of decency she would mistake for humanity, when in actuality it was the opposite. Everything he did was to benefit himself, including this.

The silence was deafening, she needed to speak, 'there was a time where I thought … I thought I loved you.' His breath hitched as the word "love" passed through her lips as she knew it would, but he returned to normal near-immediately after. 'But now, I don't know. I see too much selfishness and cruelty to ever truly love you.' If he was going to be honest, she would be too.

'It's just, every now and then I see in you a shred of integrity and I naively think that somehow it makes you a good person. I forget you're a demon sometimes.' She shook her head to herself and looked away. He studied her passively.

'You need to understand that I am not human, I haven't been for a very long time. I should never have allowed you to bargain for that night. It ruined everything.' She nodded. 'If you continue to struggle with it just remember that any time I show affection, it is an act for the benefit of myself or others; when I protect you from danger, I am really protecting you as my investment; when I show lenience it is because I want something in return. Just think of me as a selfish bastard; nothing I have done or will do in regards to you will be chivalrous.

'But if you continue to falter because of your emotions, I will not be as tolerant as I am now. I can be understanding to a certain point, but as soon as I leave this room that understanding will fast turn to frustration. Weakness is not something I will abide, and I will not indulge your own humanity any further.'

She understood; of course she did. Even when she was bent over, crying in the arms of Juanita and confessing her love for him a very vocal part of her knew he could easily undermine her in a second if he was given an alternate advantage. It was such a female thing to do, to see more in a man than was actually there.

'Out of curiosity, why did you turn to drinking after last week? Don't get me wrong I enjoy a healthy amount of alcohol, but did it affect you that badly?' He asked. It was something she had been grappling with, but she had an idea.

'To be honest, I think it was just everything. I haven't dealt with so much that has happened over the past 6 months, and to find out I had even less control that I originally had kind of threw me off.' He looked at her curiously; she just realized she didn't make a whole lot of sense. 'It's just, even though you were sending me on random hunts at your discretion, coercing me into your bed, forcing me to drop everything the minute you demanded it, even telling me what to wear, I always knew that I could hate you for it. Of everything that our arrangement entails, that was something I would always have control over. And to suddenly lose that control I just … couldn't deal with it. So I chose not to'. It suddenly made sense when she said it out loud and felt a weight lift from her chest.

He stood up, and made to pat her on the shoulder, then her head, but ultimately decided against it. She snorted at how careful he was being, and wondered how long it would last.

'By the way, I'm seeing the Winchesters tomorrow. Will you be joining me?' She asked.

'Maybe. I'll have to find a new vessel first.'

'Why can't you use that one? They haven't met you, have they?'

'No, but if I do attend, you'll be introducing me as a hunting buddy, and this bloke doesn't really look the type.' She looked him up and down and nodded.

'Fair call.'

'Don't forget what I said, Harvelle. First and last day of tolerance', he reminded her.

'I'll be fine. Now get out', she said, flicking her hand at him. He disappeared.

Letting out a sigh, she rose up and walked to the bathroom mirror, thankful that she had at last started to understand the issues which had plagued her for months. They hadn't gone by any means, but now she felt she could at least face them. Sometimes it's easier to fight the devil you know rather than the one you don't.

Life seemed that much easier to deal with.

_Light falling like a benediction, on moments that renew the world._

* * *

_A/N_

_WHADDUP! Yay for me finally updating after what, a month?_

_Explanation for chapter; I can't have my storyline progress with the way the last chapter ended. Girls don't get over stuff like that just because they get high and mighty after a fight. Fights fester, especially when no contact is made afterward. So Jo needed to suffer a bit, or it just wouldn't be plausible. _

_But, having said that, my story can't progress until she deals with the nitty gritty of her feelings. So now the plot line may continue._

_Title: Faust (duh)._

_Last line. My third favourite quote of all time. From a poem called "Estuary" by Gwen Harwood. Beautiful poem by a beautiful writer. _

_The term "staffies" doesn't refer to the dog. I don't know if it's just an Australian term, but it's the free after-work drinks you get when working in a bar/restaurant. I've worked in many-a bars/restaurants, and they're the only reason I stay in the industry._

_So, time to get into the craziness that in the story. Starting with Chapter 14. You guys have been AWESOME and as per usual, keep me writing._

_Btw, if you're weird and would like to see more of my insanity, follow me on Twitter at CaptainAsh_ …then again, maybe once-a-month doses of me is enough._

_Love love LOVE you all!_

-_thesolitaryone_-


	14. Trust He'll Profit Much Thereby

_**Chapter 14: Trust he'll profit much thereby!**_

The room was dark, small. There were chains on the walls, rattling ominously from the steady vibrations of a haunting rave in a nearby chamber; thumping, pounding, pulsating through to her very core. She felt her way across the tiled walls, searching for a door to escape, but found none. It was as if the room was built around her, caging her, to keep her from escaping.

She heard a click and a solitary lamp illuminated the room from the centre. Allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden glare, she could make out a lone woman sitting, back turned to her, on a wooden chair. Walking around to face this figure, she saw the familiar blonde hair and picturesque stature she saw in the mirror every day. Though something was different; there were no dark circled under her eyes, there was no scar on the right of her neck from when that vampire got the better of her, no pain visible behind those dark brown eyes. Her face was completely devoid of makeup, though its concealing purposes were rendered unnecessary; this woman had never hunted before. Or at least, this woman had never hunted for Crowley.

'Hello Jo,' she said, smiling. Jo stepped back, registering the impossibility of the situation and concluded she was most likely dreaming. She nodded in response to her doppelganger's greeting, but remained silent.

'I thought it was time we had a little chat,' she said, standing up. Jo said nothing for a moment, trying to wrap her brain around the ludicrous situation.

'What are you?' She finally asked. The woman snickered.

'There are many ways to answer that,' she paused, deliberating, 'I could be you, well, a reflection of what you once were. I could be an extension of your conscious. I could be a death omen, coming to warn you. I could be a demon, or a Djinn invading your mind. Or, I could just be a complete figment of your imagination, a dream long overdue.

'The fact is it doesn't matter what I am. I am here, now, to talk to you.'

'What do you want?'

'It's time you remember who you are, I think you've somehow forgotten.'

'I know exactly who I am.'

'Really? Because I don't believe the girl your mother knew would ever surrender herself to the clutches of a demon.'

'Desperate times…' Jo replied.

'Yes… desperate. Yet, desperation did not dictate to you the possibility that your mother might help, or the Winchesters. Those boys were like family.'

'They still are!'

'No. They're not. You've completely suffocated every part of who you were before you met Crowley. You've become weak, impressionable. Imagine what they would say if they knew the truth…'

Jo sat in silence, allowing the magnitude of what she was saying to wash over her.

'All you wanted was for your mother to see you as an adult capable of taking care of herself, but it doesn't mean you should forget everything she has taught you, like common sense, for example.'

'There's nothing wrong with valuing my independence!' Jo pressed assertively.

'Yes, but you seem to have trapped yourself by it.' She fell silent once more. 'You have no purpose anymore, no future. That demon has taken everything from you, leaving you a shell of what you once were.'

'I had no choice! I would have been dragged to hell.'

'Oh, so what you are engaging now is so pious? The path you are walking is leading to darkness, you _must_ see this.'

'I did what I had to; my soul is mine.'

'You have become shockingly naïve. Do you really think Crowley would have returned your soul just to utilize your hunting skills, and occasionally bed you? Wake up girl. He has plans for you! Demons don't give second chances, Jo. It is not in their nature to see reason.'

'What are you saying?'

'I'm trying to help you remember who you were. Jo Harvelle would never allow herself to become demon chow, and you would do well you remember who you were _before_ Crowley.

'Because at this rate, one way or another, you _will_ end up in Hell.' She warned, turning away and disappearing.

Jo gasped for air, forcing herself up in bed. She was drenched in sweat, and trembling violently. _What the hell was that?_ She asked herself, trying to regain control of her breathing. It was 7am, or thereabout, as she could hear the music thumping through the walls of her neighbor, but it sounded as though it were a million miles away.

She was dazed, confused, yet overwhelmingly angry at herself. That dream was clearly her conscience, which she had ignored for the better part of the past half a year, forcing her to remember its existence. Its logic was flawless of course. Her desire to be seen by her mother as an adult coerced her into pushing away from any possible assistance she could have provided, and now she was stuck, slave to a demon until death.

But, it was too late; there was no point in worrying her mother with it now. Eventually Crowley would get bored with her and move on, she knew that much. It was a matter of how many years she had to stick it out. This was the new normal, and she was getting used to it.

Despite reasoning with herself, she was still trembling five minutes later as she rose up to don some clothing, and get herself ready for the day ahead. It is important she bring her A-game to the table today, as the boys were trained to spot a liar, and she wasn't all that good at it.

* * *

She had decided upon a neutral ground in which to meet the Winchesters; her apartment would not do. The bar was the obvious choice given its public, although reserved, nature. And besides, a little alcohol before the hunt would not go astray; hunters did not trust hunters, and she knew the boys would not take kindly to her joining ranks with another. If only they knew…

She had decided to get there early, and hoped Crowley would do the same. Although, of course, given his partiality to making her life as difficult as possible, he was nowhere to be seen. Anxiety had already made three beers sink in the past hour, and she grew worried she would not be able to see straight when her merry band of hunters arrived. Then again, these days she could hold her liquor quite well.

Given it was just after midday on a Tuesday, there were a surprisingly large number of people in the bar. All of them regulars of course, but it was rare for them to all congregate at once. It is a _Tuesday_ after all, and she knew most of these drunks had families, and jobs. Still, it's not like she could judge, considering how much she had just swiftly consumed.

A ring from the bell above the entrance alerted her to the presence of two more customers entering the bar. Recognizing immediately those dangerously attractive men she had come to call family, she vacated her high-top table and near jump-tackled them in greeting.

'Boys, it's been too long!' She said, kissing Sam on the cheek.

'Yes it has,' replied Dean in his usual Dean-like smirk. She stood staring at them for a few seconds, so grateful to finally register some familiarity in her messed up life.

'I heard about the deal you made Dean, I'm sorry,' she said, grabbing his arm.

'How'd you know?' He asked.

'Mum told me, a few weeks ago.' She lied effortlessly. Perhaps this would be easier than she thought.

'Yeah, but at least Sammy's alive,' Dean said lightly, smacking Sam across the shoulder. His brother shot him a dark look, suggesting to Jo that he had not quite forgiven Dean for sacrificing himself, again, for him.

They stood in silence for a bit before she said, 'you boys want a beer?' They both nodded, but before they moved the door opened again. A man, whose large amount of facial hair could not cover up his underlying attractiveness walked toward them, and she knew immediately it was Crowley. He wasn't kidding; this man definitely looked the part.

'Guys, this is-' _crap! We didn't think of the name!_

'Fergus,' he said, with a thick Irish accent.

Dean tried, and failed, to cover up his amusement. 'Nice to meet you, _Fergus_'. They all exchanged handshakes.

'_Fergus_ is a fellow hunter living here. He's been helping me with the Hastur problem.' Jo said, glaring pointedly at Dean. Though she didn't blame him for his mirth: _Fergus? Surely he could have picked a better cover name_. Unsurprisingly, as soon as she mentioned he was a hunter, however, Sam and Dead looked skeptical of her association with him.

'Uh Jo, can we have a chat?' Sam asked. She nodded. 'Excuse us,' he said to their new acquaintance. Dean led her to the bar, out of earshot.

'Are you crazy Jo?' He asked, 'what're you doing associating with other hunters? Especially ones we've never heard of'. She threw them both exasperated looks.

'He's a friend guys! He's gotten me out of a few tight spots, and he's a good man. Besides, it's not like you know every hunter there is.'

'We know a fair few,' Dean pressed, 'how do you know he's legit?'

'I just do, okay. You're going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing. Now, I didn't call you here to judge my newfound company, I called you for your help. Now, can we get down to business?' She finished, giving them broth pointed looks.

'It's just, if you get hurt-'

'Yeah, we're just looking out for you,' said Sam, giving her a softened look.

'I know guys. I love you, but give me a break; I'm not stupid.' She turned and walked back to Crowley.

'Sorry, Fergus. Drinks?' She asked, and signaled the bar to produce four more bottles. 'Alright, I think we need to start working this out.' She led them all to the high-top table she vacated a few minutes ago, and proceeded to fill the brothers in on what she knew about the demon.

'Yeah, I've heard of this one,' said Sam, reaching into his bag and pulling out a journal, flipping through the pages. 'October 2nd, 1995, Cheyenne Wyoming; Robert Anderson found dead in his apartment; racial hate message on the walls; sulfur on the windowsill. April 3rd, 1998, Lincoln Nebraska; Rosie Chau thrown from fourth floor window; hate message written on clothing; sulfur on the doorhandle. And there's five more. There doesn't seem to be a pattern; guess it's why Dad never killed it.'

'That and it's one of the most powerful demons in existence, given its plans to make a play for the demonic upper-ranks,' piped up Crowley. Sam and Dean glared at him apprehensively.

'You wanna tell us how you know that sunshine?' Asked Dean.

'Not really, love.'

'You know I don't think I like you, kid. Who are you? Where did you come from?'

'I think that's a great big pile of none of your business. I'm here, I'm helping, and that should be reason enough to toe the bloody line.'

Dean pursed his lips, shaking his head in anger.

'You know, we don't have to listen to this. The three of us can hunt this thing without you.' Dean said, standing up.

'Dean! We need his help. He's been keeping tabs on this thing for a while, and knows his stuff. Cool off, will you?'

'What are you even doing with this joker Jo? He just _happens_ to be living in Duluth, the most obscure town on the planet? Just _happens_ to be an expert on the thing we are hunting? Yeah that's a _real_ coincidence'. He clenched his fists in an obvious attempt to not punch the new hunter in the face. Crowley, however, looked as though he found the entire situation hilarious.

'Something funny, Chuckles?'

'Yeah, actually. You come in here all high and mighty, but you've got no idea what you're up against. See now, this is my town; I'm the big man on campus here. So you will shut up, and do what I say, y'hear?'

'That supposed to be threatening?' Dean asked.

'I'm seriously getting bored with this exchange of conversation. So how about we negotiate the new terms of this agreement? You sit down and shut up, or I grab this knife' he suggested in a quiet voice, pulling an athame from his belt, 'and go trigger happy on your Willy Wonka. Believe me when I say I'm the quicker draw.'

'Go for your life, handsome,' Dean retorted in a near whisper, his face barely an inch from Crowley's.

'Okay okay, boys, zip up and settle down. Like it or not, we're doing this together. Fergus knows the demon; you boys should know how to kill it. Let's just get it over with so we can all get back to our day jobs, understood?' All three of them reluctantly nodded. 'Okay. So, we'll break until we stumble across anything of use. Boys, back to your motel. _Fergus_, we need to have a chat.'

The boys made for the exit, with Dean kicking a bar stool in frustration.

'Oh real mature!' Yelled Crowley. Dean spun around and started towards his adversary, but thankfully, Sam had the sense to pull him back and push him out the door. He shot Jo an apologetic look before following his brother into the cool afternoon air.

'That one needs an attitude check'. Said Crowley, downing the last of his beer and grimacing at the taste.

'Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black? You're going to want to watch your _own_ attitude next time we meet with them,' she said pointedly.

'They're insufferable! And ignorant as all hell. Feel like just handing them over to the bloody demon and letting him have his way with them.'

'Yes yes, we all know you want to watch the world burn. Just keep your story straight next time. If they trust you any less they'll start throwing holy water at you as a precaution.' He scoffed at the unlikelihood of her proposal. 'Oh believe me, they've done it before. If they find out who you really are, they _will_ kill you.' She finished off her beer and smacked him on the arm, 'come on. Let's get out of here.'

'Nice meat suit by the way,' she said as they walked to the door, 'but, why the _hell_ did you decide to call yourself _Fergus_ of all names?'

He shrugged. 'Don't know; guess it just came to me.'

* * *

_A/N_

_Sorry for the late update guys! I don't have two minutes to rub together these days… But the season finale inspired me – what an end! So back on track. Though, admittedly, this may be the last update for a month again. The whole '6 essays and 2 presentations due before the 17__th__ of June, and I have to get HDs or I fail the semester' problem I have going on right now is keeping me on my toes. But, after then, I have 2 weeks away on business and 4 weeks of NOTHING during the winter break. So I should finish the story in that time, if I can get my shit together. _

_Then again, there's at least another 10 chapters to be written. And I have a habit of getting bored easily._

_But this leads me to my next point; The reviews I've been getting are AMAZING! I love you guys so much! You keep me writing. I would have been bored out of my _mind_ with this story if I haven't had so much love for it. Thank you, again._

_Winchesters this chapter. Whaddup? How was the characterization? Need to change for the next few chapters? Let me know! I LOVE CRITICISM! But only if it's constructive._

_Keep reviewing, and keep loving. Like I said before, if you want to get in contact with me directly/get a daily steaming-pile-of-crazy dose from me, add me on Twitter (CaptainAsh_)._

_Love you all forever!_

_x_


	15. It consumes thee in this den

_**Chapter 15: It consumes thee in this den**_**.**

She decided it was about time to invest in a journal. Mind, though, its purpose would not be of a recording nature for her hunting escapades, but rather one to help her remain sane. Given the complex nature of her _arrangement_, a piece of paper would probably be the only entity she could be truly honest with. As well, it would provide her with at least a few minutes peace from the incessant research she had embarked upon to combat the latest enemy. Even though she was well aware of how redundant she had made herself, she decided not to research with the boys, rather resorting to assuring them she would be conducting it with _Fergus_. It was a lie of course; she knew Crowley was about as partial to books as she was to him at the moment. Her part in this play would be merely for show until the boys figured it out.

Still, it didn't hurt to hit the books just in case…

She turned back to the recently purchased leather-bound journal and ran her hands over it. It looked thoroughly unremarkable, enough to not draw attention and permit her thoughts to remain her own. And yet it had, in its own way, a cool sort of charm, like it had the ability to become an extension of her, rather than a mere accessory to life. The pages weren't lined, but she didn't mind, in fact, blank pages were preferable.

She had always believed diaries or journals written for any other purpose than the detailed record of a hunt was pure melodrama to the point where even as a kid she never wanted one. Secrets were never a part of her upbringing; you had a problem, you deal with it, face to face. Now however… Who else could she turn to if not a journal? Her mother? Juanita? The Winchesters? Ha! The prospect was laughable. She needed an outlet, and Crowley would surely not offer her one.

Here goes…

_Wade, _

_I dreamt last night of a nightclub. Not of the ones I frequent here, but one of elegance, style, where the lighting didn't encourage excessive drinking, but dancing. The kind of club where there were always couches available in quiet seclusion for conversation or more indecent acts. It was here I was talking to a woman who listened and never spoke, never interrupted. I told this woman everything: everything I was hiding, everything I was unable to speak of to anyone else. But, more importantly, every truth, every lie, every feeling I was unable to admit even to myself. Even though I was frozen in shock of everything I had admitted, of all the self loathing and regret I had come to procure, she said to me in quiet understanding, _"you are not the enemy here"_. _

_This woman's name was Wade. I don't know if it was a last name or a first name (frankly, it sounds like a guy's name), but it stuck, and seems right._

_I decided as soon as I woke up the following morning that I was unable to let this outlet escape me, and although I would never be able to tell a real person all the things I intend to tell this diary, I would have the closest thing humanly possible. An outlet is still an outlet, even if it can't ever answer back. So here we are; Jo Harvelle with a diary. Who knew right?_

_On to the pressing matter: my deal with the demon Crowley._

_I'm not going to go through the details because the story itself isn't something I need to let out, but what's been running through my head as a result._

_Even now in reflection on my motivation for making the deal my reasoning comes up short. When it comes down to it, the sincerest of intentions are still just intentions. I intended to help my mother fight that werewolf 7 and a half years ago, I intended to find Lilith and have my contract ripped up, I intended to save myself from Hell. But they're just words; intentions don't mean anything, not really._

_I need to start dealing with the situation. Even as I write this I know I've made the conscious decision to get over it before; what would make this any different. I haven't dealt because to be honest, I don't think I have the strength. Sure Jo Harvelle has girl-balls, and knows how to kick a bloke (or demon) in the jibblets without so much as a second thought, but to be constantly assaulted not only physically, but mentally… spiritually. He has the vile ability to get into my head, make a mess, and just walk away, leaving me to silently gather the pieces. _

_I was never raised to dwell on bad luck or wrongdoings. But somehow I don't find solace in these lessons anymore. I've made my bed, dug my hole, had my cake and ate it too, and now I have to accept the fact that _nothing _will change. Hindsight is perfect, but life isn't; not even close. _Why_ can't I just get past this?_

_I can sit here blaming life for throwing me curveballs, but what difference does it make? Bitching and moaning about the difficulty of life won't change the fact that I still have to live it. It's not the concept of living that is at fault here. Getting over it, finding closure, moving on or whatever depends entirely on one simple fact: In the end, life doesn't screw you, but the choices you make which pave the path ultimately deciding your fate. Once you accept this, you realise you have the power to change it._

She paused, looking over the last paragraph, and chuckled to herself before putting pen back to paper;

_But of course, I can't take my own advice. No, I'm just going to have to get used to playing both hero and villain in this never-ending war, regardless of good common sense. _

_J_

7/8/2007

She closed the book and placed it on the counter next to her, sighing with relief. She felt better, even if she knew the feeling would be fleeting. Regardless of her tough-it-out upbringing, she was still a woman, and retaining a firm shell of solidarity would tear her to pieces.

Staring blankly at the wall, lost in her own thoughts, made Crowley's abrupt entrance go entirely unnoticed. She registered the return to his original upper-class publisher (or whatever the hell he told her he did) outfit, however also his apparent agitation.

'Get up. They're attacking _now_.' He panted, walking over to her.

'Wait, what?' She replied, utterly confused.

'Hastur and his bitches. Found the Winchester idiots at their motel. _They. Are. Attacking. Now_.' He pulled her to her feet.

'_Shit_. Wait. You can't come with me looking like that!'

'Yes, that's why I _won't _be coming with you.'

'What if I get hurt?' She asked, however incredibly ashamed as soon as the words escaped her lips.

'If the situation deems it necessary for my interference to save your skin I will oblige,' he said, speaking very quickly, 'however given the skill and weaponry of the three of you I doubt it would be called for. It's not like you've _ever _wanted my help in a situation such as this anyway.' The transient look he shot her was of exasperation, yet of undeniable curiosity. She deserved it though; was she becoming weak? Certainly one would assume so if her first response to a fight was whether or not he would protect her. _God_ she was so messed up.

'Wait, I need my jacket,' she said, hastily pulling a large hunting coat from the nightstand. Responding to his querying look, she showed him the inside lining of the heavy garment, revealing a hunter's arsenal she'd rigged after learning of the current demonic problem. He nodded, grasping her arm again.

Her next thought was cut short as they appeared outside the aged cream cement rendering of the Best Western Motel off West 2nd. He vanished almost immediately after, leaving her to find the boys in one of the dozens of rooms. She ran up the left sidewalk, however the daunting task of checking each room individually was quite unnecessary, as a sharp cry called her quickly to room 19.

The door was locked. No mind. She pulled out her gun and blew the lock, kicking the door in. She gasped at the scene in front of her; both the Winchesters were pinned against the wall by an unseen force localized around their necks, controlled by a figure in the centre of the room. Her mind immediately connected it with Hastur, however felt a sharp kick in the small of her back before she could truly assess the situation. Prepared for this, she rolled forward, pulling from the inside of her jacket two navy blue guns shooting not bullets, but streams of water at her two advancing adversaries. They buckled over in pain at the onslaught, choking and gasping for air as the jets of seeming acid shot at their faces.

She heard something from one of the boys, and whipped her head around to find Hastur, now dressed up as an Eastern European woman, still concentrating intently on the boys, and apparently half way through a monologue. Thank God most demons monologue. It buys a hell of a lot of time.

'_Niiipe_,' Dean choked at her, through the relentless attack.

'What?' She was still trying to keep Hastur's two cronies at bay, a feat becoming increasingly difficult with the apparent conversation Dean was trying to strike up.

'_Nipe! Nipe!_' He gasped again. The demon, registering this exchange, telekinetically threw Dean across the room to the other wall, cracking his head against the dry wall and knocking him out cold.

'Don't worry honey, you're next,' spat the demon, smiling. One of the two she was subduing made to grab her leg, however missed. She kneed him in the face, and increased her holy water attack. She running dangerously low, with only about 30 seconds of fuel left. _What the hell was Dean trying to say?_

'_Niipe!_' Came Sam's choked voice from the far wall. She was getting frustrated.

'What the _hell_ does 'Nipe' mean!' She yelled. But, as soon as she said the word out loud it made sense. Nipe? _Knife!_ Following Sam's gaze to a few inches behind Hastur's feet she noticed an engraved athame. She registered it as the demon-killing blade of that demon friend of theirs and slowly backed up from the two she was subduing to bend down and grab it.

The holy water guns had emptied, and the two demons started advancing. A few swift moves on her part saw the both of them fall to the ground, defeated. Thanking her luck Hastur decided to bring second-rate lower-level demons to his aid rather than anything of value, she turned to face the bastard himself. Making her was to his occupied behind, she raised the blade and made to strike-

She was suddenly thrown against the wall above the bed, the same unseen force holding the boys now capturing her. _Damn it, of course it was too easy!_ They were all so screwed.

'Now, where was I? Oh yes. So I thought to myself, what would be the best way to rise to the top? And it was obvious; kill the two of you.' _Well that was obvious. _Why_ must they always monologue?_

A small white line appeared above the demon's head, making a circle around the subject. It continued inside to create a set of intricate patterns which she noticed immediately as the workings of a Devil's Trap. Her eyes darted to Sam who, appearing to be drifting in and out of consciousness, did not seem to notice the new additions on the roof.

'And with that?' Apparently the demon had finished with his little speech, and Sam was subsequently thrown into the nightstand next to Jo, rendering him now completely unconscious, a trickle of blood falling down his forehead. _Damn, I hope they're alright_.

'Now now, Jo Harvelle. You have real promise there girl. I hear that little shit Crowley has you running errands for him like a good, little, dog.' She was being dragged up the wall, closer to the roof. 'He won't be happy that I've killed you, but I'm sure in the end he wouldn't really care.' She was thrown onto the floor next to Sam. Remarkably unhurt by the turn of events, she rolled over and jumped up, just in time to see Dean fall to the floor, still comatose. The Devil's Trap was complete, and Hastur was rendered incapacitated.

Crowley shot open the door and strode in. 'Yes, I do care.' He picked up the knife and threw it to Jo where she caught it effortlessly. Using the same power Hastur had just used on the three of them, Crowley managed to asphyxiate the demon to his knees. Jo, hatred rising in her chest, walked right up to the pathetic wad, and drove the knife home, twisting it maliciously until all light was extinguished from behind those dead eyes. Pulling it out and wiping the blood off onto the demon's clothing, she turned to Crowley.

'Thankyou.' She admitted, walking over to Dean who was stirring slightly.

'Just protecting my investment.'

'You'd better go; they'll be waking up soon. I'll explain.' He nodded and vanished.

She walked to the bathroom and gathered a few wet towels to place on the boys' foreheads. As she returned to the room, she noticed an interesting addition to the Winchester's rucksack; The Colt.

If she was ever going to get some answers out of Crowley, the only method would be through coercion, and seeing as he would easily best her in a knife fight, perhaps the gun could come in handy. After all, this fight had brought up a number of very important issues she would rather not remain ignorant about.

* * *

Given Crowley had erased the Trap from the roof, it was not difficult to convince the boys that _Fergus_ had arrived to help them out just in the nick of time, rather than having to explain how a Trap appeared out of nowhere directly above one of the most powerful demons in existence. It was, however, slightly more difficult to explain why she needed to borrow the Colt for a night, as they did not quite buy her half-baked story that she wanted to "examine" it and its supernatural properties. Still, they allowed her to take it so long as it would be promptly returned at 8am before they hit the road again. _Thank you Lord!_

So much was buzzing through her mind; recounting the events of the day, the deal, the diary, the upper ranks of the Hell, how many days she could get away without doing laundry. But the most pressing question she needed answering at this moment was as such; _why was Crowley so adamant about saving the boys?_ What value could they possibly have to the underworld? Would it not be beneficial to just allow the demon to kill them, _then_ have Crowley and her to come and clean house? Why spare their lives? It has become abundantly clear that most of Hell wants them dead, so why on earth would Crowley want to protect them?

Whatever the answer, it would _not_ be good.

Ah, speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

'Come to congratulate yourself? Or are you just making one of your oh-so-welcome coital house calls?' She asked.

'Though it is flattering that you anticipate my visits so, the former is more accurate. I have a splitting headache. Got any Aspirin?'

She snorted. 'Didn't know demons even got headaches.'

'We do, usually after a prize-winning fight. Though it takes half a bottle to actually alleviate any discomfort. Pills?' He asked again.

'Bathroom cabinet, but before you rape my supplies, I have a question.' He raised his eyebrows in a "you're kidding, right?" kind of way. 'Given the sentiments of other demons of your caliber, I would have presumed you either hated, or were indifferent to the Winchester boys. So why make sure I arrived in time to save them?'

He scoffed at her. 'So you're friends survived, and yet you have to poke a hole in the victory-balloon anyway? You can never just accept that the bad guys lost without ruining it, can you?'

'See I'm not so sure they _did_ lose today. Why not let them die?'

'Maybe I knew how important they were to you.'

'Ha! Since when have you ever given a damn about _my_ wellbeing? I know you have something nasty up your sleeve.'

'It just so happens I don't.' He replied. She shook with anger; like _hell _she was going to believe him!

'So I'm just supposed to _trust_ that you have the right intentions? As a demon? Really?'

He thought for a brief moment. 'Yes,' he said, eyebrows slightly raised.

'Hold on while I suspend my disbelief,' she said dryly, 'what plans do you have for the boys?' She asked, not really sure why she was expecting an honest answer.

'None of your business,' he turned his back to her and walked into the bathroom, opening the mirror to reach for the bottle of aspirin.

'Those boys are family', she retorted, slamming the small door on his fingers, 'it matters.' He adopted that all-too familiar look which plainly told her he was thinking of the most creative way possible to explain to her that he would in fact _not_ be opening up.

'Honey, precedence dictates I'm not going to tell you, and you should count yourself lucky I'm not outwardly lying to you. This arrangement works on a need-to-know basis, and this is not _need-to-know_.' She scoffed.

'Withholding the truth is still lying!'

'Still not caring.' She shook her head and left the bathroom, pulling something from her jacket pocket, keeping her back to him. He looked at her, curiously.

'What are you-' She whipped around, the fabled Colt in her hands, aiming directly at his forehead.

'You sick, perverted, lying piece of trash. I'm done, _so_ done.'

'Is that the-'

'Colt? Yeah. Borrowed it from the Winchesters. Now, how about you _suck it up_, and tell me why the Underworld is so damn interested in those boys. And, for that matter, why _I'm_ of such interest to you.' He chuckled, downing half the aspirin bottle and throwing it on the floor. Despite her threats and the obvious demise he would face should she pull the trigger, he seemed thoroughly unphased by the recent turn of events.

'Good luck with that, sweetheart.'

'You _know _what this gun is, and what it can do.' Her voice was steady, even though it took almost all her strength to stop her shaking hands.

'Yes, but see, I don't think you'll pull the trigger.'

'I've killed for a _hell_of a lot less.'

'Oh I don't doubt you have. But I think you've overlooked a significant clause of our deal'. She fought to keep her expression stony. 'Sunshine, we are not just bound by the continued deliverance of your "services",' he snickered, 'but you are _bound_ to me; in life, and in death. You pull the trigger, and you'll be signing your own death certificate. Except you won't be joining dear old Daddy in Heaven, you'll be dragged down to Hell.'

Their eyes met again, each not daring to blink and give the game away.

'You're lying,' she said.

'Am I? Prepared to take that on faith?' He asked.

'I have no faith in you.' She spat, coldly.

'Then by all means, shoot. Kill me, see where that gets you. Or, call the Winchester's for back-up; see if we can't have a good old fashioned Mexican standoff.' She could sense he was trying to get in her head. She focused all her energy into keeping her hand strong and her eyes clear. 'In fact, considering my own hesitance to tell you _why_ I have such an interest in those two meat-heads, the evidence shows that my intentions are to cause them harm. Following that logic, killing me might save their own lives.

'So, hypothetically, I guess it comes down to this; it's either your life, or Sam and Dean's.'

Her eyes swam with tears as she fought to keep the gun pointed at him. 'So your intentions are to harm them?'

'Maybe. Maybe not. It's all a matter of perspective.' _God!_ Why on earth must he make _EVERYTHING_ so difficult! He has never given her reason to trust _anything_ that comes out of his disgusting mouth, so why should she believe him now? His calm exterior in the face of imminent death is not reason enough to believe his claim, even though it could make a hell of a lot sense. Why not add that extra clause into the bargain; an insurance policy if you will against her hatred for him? Still, if he was right, is she game enough to die, even if it will save two of her closest friends?

'Damn,' she lowered the gun, and threw it on the floor. 'You're a nasty piece of work.'

'Aww honey,' he said in an almost mocking voice as he walked up toward her, 'no one's judging you. You made the right choice.'

He lifted her chin and kissed her gently. As he did, she could feel him suck the last of her resolve from her soul, leaving her powerless against his increasingly ambidextrous grasp on her life.

'I'll be back tomorrow.' And with that he was gone.

* * *

_A/N_

_Wow. It has been a looong time since I've updated this. Like 2 months! Geez I suck._

_So, a lot happened this chapter. You're welcome!_

_The bit at the start actually happened to me; I had this really helpful dream where I just sat and talked to someone about all the rubbish in my life. I've never been to therapy, nor have I ever really needed it, but I woke up the next morning with such renewed perspective… So I decided to let Jo have it. _

_This chapter is my masterpiece, my Everest. I've been battling the worst procrastination since I've been on winter break. But it's done! At 2am before semester starts tomorrow. Wow I fail. It's my last semester, so it'll be extra busy. But seeing as I do more writing here when I'm busy elsewhere, this should be the first in a string of updates coming your way! So beware! Or be excited; it depends on how much of a life you have…_

_Title goes to Faust! Of course!_

_All the reviews… you guys are the best! It's such an obscure pairing that I never really expected to get many reviews at all, yet here you are! All of you, you're AWESOME!_

_Anyway, I have 8 hours of work and 5 hours of lectures tomorrow. Best be off to the real world! Peace!_

_-thesolitaryone-_

_P.S. This was written at 2am, and in my haste to get it up as fast as possible, good and thorough editing may have been sacrificed. Sorry!_


	16. Lure me with your lying flatteries

_**Chapter 16: Lure me with your lying flatteries**_

Oh _God_.

Oh no, no, no, no, _no_. What had she _done_?

She woke up, covered in a thick travelling coat, and turned to face the man sleeping beside her. Without hesitation she burst into tears, letting them spill shamelessly down her cheeks as the figure next to her turned over in his slumber. How could she have let this happen?

_What had she done!_

Quickly, she donned her scattered clothing and walked from the bar, trying to remember the events of the previous day, so hazy from a rare afternoon spent with friends and too many bottles of Jack. It was futile however, receiving only glimpses of images, of people, talking, laughing, dancing, and drinking in a seemingly never-ending manner. It would seem she never left the bar.

Somehow, she had woken up after a night of drunken stupidity with an equally naked Michael.

* * *

She returned home and showered immediately, scrubbing every inch of her body. She was due to meet with Crowley this afternoon before business took him elsewhere for a few days. Dread was just one of the emotions flying through her system. _What to do, what to do…_

_How_ could she have been so _stupid_ as to let herself sleep with Michael? Sure, she had wanted it for some time, something that even Crowley knew, but given their circumstances, she knew such a desire could never be satisfied. She settled for admiring him from a distance, never letting herself get too close, and most importantly, never _ever_ mentioning his name to Crowley. But now after too many drinks, she wound up biting the bullet anyway, and she was _officially_ screwed. Crowley will _kill_ him, before punishing her in unthinkable ways. He told her of the parties he attended, the revels, the celebrations... If he participated in such corrupt practices when he was happy, she could not fathom the breadth of his imagination for torture when he was irate.

Over the past month she had been gathering together evidence, and putting pieces of the puzzle together to try and figure out Crowley's plans, especially those pertaining to the Winchesters. She had managed to keep it completely secret, gathering information from other hunters she ran into whilst working for Crowley, or those rare few who came through the bar. Even though she had no idea what any of the information led to, it was somewhat of an achievement; somehow she was able to keep part of her life away from Crowley. It kept her sane knowing that privacy was still achievable if she was willing to work at it. She knew the repercussions should he find out; being willing to work at it becomes easy when you're life is on the line. Although she knew he would find out eventually, hopefully, when that time came, she would have gathered enough intelligence to kill him without the threat of her own demise.

This would have to be her only source of comfort with Michael. She grabbed her cell, noticing several missed calls and alarmed text messages from his number. Instinctively, she deleted all record of him from her phone and turned it off, not wanting any unwelcome contact from him whilst Crowley was around.

Putting it down on the bedside table, she walked over to the kitchen counter to brew some tea and hopefully calm her nerves. Any minute now…

As she reached up to grab her favourite mug, she felt someone come up from behind and grab her waist, running their hands along her side until they reached her hips, moving inwards with firm purpose. Her eyes fluttered shut as Crowley started rubbing her groin through her jeans, focusing his middle finger on the firm stitching running down the centre.

Michael's face shot into her mind and her eyes snapped open. Grabbing his hand away from her, she turned around to face him, affecting a confidence which in reality was thoroughly shaken.

'I need to get this over with Crowley, I have to work tonight'.

'Of course, and given my personal interest in the trivial aspects of your private life, I will of course happily comply.' His voice was dripping with sarcasm, and she sighed, walking to her wardrobe to grab her jacket.

'Fine, do what you will.'

'Oh so it's obedient Barbie today, how thoroughly unlike you,' he said dryly. _Damnit_, she cursed. _Always_ fight back. Quickly tossing together an explanation, she replied 'I just can't be bothered arguing with you today.' He didn't hesitate in walking over and grabbing her arm, quelling the fear that he suspected something. Taking a mental sigh of relief, she allowed him to transport her to their private bedroom, sleeping with her second person in 24 hours.

* * *

She knew Crowley would find out; he was too damn cunning, and her acting skills were too damn poor for him not to. But losing Michael, one of the few beacons of light in the craphole of her servile life, was a thought she could not bear to contemplate. It would seem that despite whatever her best efforts may be, the unimaginable would indeed become the inevitable.

_I'm never drinking again_, she recited for the millionth time. Although, of course, previously such outlandish statements of intent had been due to a particularly painful hangover, not the impending assassination of her best friend. Her mind raced as she thought of ways to conceal this from him, though she knew most would inevitably be insufficient. Her best bet would be for Michael to leave Duluth, and for Crowley to be unenlightened for as long as possible to ensure his safety.

'I think that glass is polished enough,' came Juanita's voice from beside her. She put the tumbler onto the counter and picked up the next one, smiling in a pained sort of way. She was finally able to get to work an hour late, after Crowley _insisted_ on several rounds of sex purely to emphasise his complete lack of affinity towards her non-hunting responsibilities.

For a reason she couldn't quite pinpoint, she abruptly turned to Juanita and confessed, 'I had sex with Michael last night.' Her head snapped around so quickly Jo was sure it was going to fall right off.

'Wait, _what_?' She asked, clearly shocked, 'but what about your-'

'He doesn't know, and he can _never_ know. It wouldn't end well for Michael.' Juanita just stood, staring at her, waiting for an elaboration Jo wasn't planning to provide.

'Damn alcohol hey?' She said lightly, trying to lift the solemn mood. Jo nodded, returning with a weak smile. 'Well, what are you going to do?'

'I... don't know. But my – whatever he is – is dangerous. I know I've alluded to it before, but if he finds out,' tears started threatening the corners of her eyes, 'I don't even want to imagine what would happen...'. Her voice started cracking as she gathered up the momentum to add, 'listen, Juanita, I think- I think I'll need your help.'

'My help?'

'I need to convince Michael to leave, to get as far away from hear as possible.'

Juanita contemplated Jo's request for a moment, shook her head angrily and threw the polishing cloth onto the counter, walking towards the back entrance.

'Juanita, wait!' She cried.

'No,' she said and turned around, shooting Jo a look of such disappointment she was sure her insides would never stop crumbling. 'No, that's enough. I've watched you now for almost a year, throwing yourself into this black hole of a relationship, bending over backwards for a guy who has beaten almost every inch of resolve out of your system. I have watched you fall in and out of love with him, I have lent an ear and comforted you against my _own_ better judgement and I have just sat back and _watched_ him treat you like a dog. And now you want me to _help_ you rid this town of one of my _best friends_? No. I'm done.' She finished, throwing her arms into the air in submission.

'I know how it looks!'

'Do you! You know I get that some relationships are hard, and I get that _maybe_ you can't get out so easily, but the Jo I knew would _never _push her own friends out of town because of her own drunken mistake. He has taken every inch of the girl I loved and replaced her with some hollowed out shell, too scared to face her problems _head on_. Please, count me out of this circus. I'm done.' She repeated, walking out of the bar.

The tears spilled over her cheeks. She was right, of course. Jo had known for some time the permanent damage Crowley had done to her, but she thought that at least, as of late, she had evened out enough to regain some form of her old self. Perhaps not. Perhaps this Michael situation had taken her back to square one.

But this wasn't about her. This was about Michael and his safety, which in this situation, needed to come first. She closed the bar early, resolving to get him the hell away from there as soon as possible.

* * *

He didn't take it well. The whole "you have to leave town now, for reasons I can't explain, but it's for your own good" argument is only viable in dramatic soap operas. He promised her he would leave and visit his parents in New York for a few weeks, but for no longer than that. It was the best she could ask for; if it had have been him asking her, she knew she wouldn't even grant him that much. Secrets are exhausting, and with the number she had it was surprising she wasn't constantly fatigued. She wished she could just have someone, anyone to understand. Juanita was her only real outlet, and now she wouldn't return her calls. If she was planning on reconciling with Jo, all hope would be dashed when she discovered Michael's absence. Everything was such a mess, and a future in this town, with that bloody demon without the support of Juanita or Michael became incomprehensible.

With Crowley gone until Tuesday, she had three solid days of nothing: no friends, no hunting assignments, no work. She couldn't go on a road trip because Crowley had demons watching the state lines. She couldn't do freelance hunting because he forbade it and stationed connections everywhere. She couldn't see her friends because she had driven them all away. She had become a prisoner in her own town.

Not comfortable with relying on her own darkened thought for company, she rented a dozen slasher flicks and resolved to wait out the days of boredom until work on Tuesday morning.

* * *

Crowley's attendance at the bar was very limited until she caved and convinced her boss to start ordering in bottles of the supremely expensive Craig to satiate his complaints about their lack of premium whiskey. It shut him up, but also saw his presence at work increase, mostly on Tuesdays when the bar was near empty and she was the only one working. Even her nasty perverted manager never showed up anymore. Of course, after a weekend away on business, she was not at all surprised to see him walk through the door at dusk wanting a drink. She didn't actually think he really wanted to be there, but knew how frustrated it made her.

'I know you have a store of this in your own house.'

'I come for the view,' he said, smirking at her.

She scoffed, placing one hand on the bar and the other on her hip, 'well, so long as you don't mind the 300% mark up.'

'Close up the bar early tonight. I have some business to attend to later this evening and we have an appointment before then.'

'No. I'm not supposed to see you until tomorrow night.'

Looking vaguely irritated he added, 'and now you have one tonight.'

'At this rate, if you keep cutting my hours, you're going to have to support me.'

'And here I thought you'd be too proud to take my dirty demon money.'

'I'd rather you just _give me a break_,' she replied, testing the waters in her usual fashion. He sneered at her reply, and downed the rest of his glass. 'One more,' he said, throwing it to her.

Her back was turned, pulling the bottle from the highest shelf, and so it was Crowley who was the first to notice Michael walking through the front door.

'Bar's closed, son,' he said, arrogantly.

'I believe I make that ca- Michael!' Her heart sank a few feet below the ground. _Shite!_ 'You're supposed to be in New York. Wh-what are you doing here?' She asked shakily. Crowley looked at her tentatively, noting her changed demeanour. Her eyes darted between them uncontrollably. Michael never looked kindly upon her association with Crowley, and seeing their relationship in a similar light to Juanita. She knew this attitude would make him tactless, and by the look on his face as he marched to the counter, his discontent with the situation wouldn't help in the slightest. Her breath hitched as he started talking.

'Jo, I get that you're spoken for, and have no real plans to change that anytime soon,' he shot a look at Crowley, who appeared curious, even amused, 'but I know how he treats you. I can give you _so _much more than... _this_,' he finished, nodding his head towards his adversary.

'What?' Crowley asked, half laughing.

'I'm pretty sure you heard me, _old man_,' replied Michael scathingly.

'Ol-Old man? So that's what you see me as, Michael, is it?' He replied, pointing at his chest. He was clearly enjoying this, as Jo could tell, however the amusement had evaporated from his voice as he replied, 'then it must kill you, _son_, to know how often I throw her down and pound the stuffing right out of her. And it is go-ood!' He said, leaning back.

'Hey!' Interjected Jo, thoroughly horrified by the turn of conversation. Michael, it seemed, felt the same.

'You shit! You show her no respect! You know, I see you for what you really are,' he said, pressing his finger to Crowley's chest; ' a bored, tired, pathetic, middle-aged man, whose only perverted form of pleasure can come from tearing apart those who are of far better character than themselves-'

'Michael _STOP!_' Screamed Jo.

'Yes Michael, you would _do well_ to stop. Because you're right, she _is_ spoken for, and if you continue to _insist_ upon looking down your nose at me, I can guarantee the next words out of your mouth will _be your last_,' threatened Crowley, placing particular emphasis on those final three words.

'Just _go_, Michael, you have no right to be here,' she said, furiously. _What was he thinking?_ His lips tightened to an almost non-existent white line, his entire body shaking with rage.

'Yes, run along tiny human,' sneered Crowley, returning to his earlier bemused expression. Michael turned to Jo, opening his mouth as if to speak. Thankfully, her frantic head shaking in warning convinced him otherwise, and he marched out the door.

'You would do well to not indulge the boy, Harvelle. If I hear his name again I'll make you watch as I hang him from the ceiling by his intestines' He warned, downing the last of his scotch and rising to his feet. 'Be done in 20 minutes, I'm getting antsy,' he said, and vanished.

Somehow, she had dodged a very violent bullet.

* * *

_A/N_

_No I did not forget about this story. It has just fallen by the wayside as I entered my final semester of university. So here it is, A NEW FREAKING CHAPTER! *hears applause* No… stop… you're embarrassing me…._

_I just want to say there is a solid chance I would have completely abandoned this story if it weren't for the constant support. Even the heap of you who subscribe (but never review), thank you for just taking the time to read it._

_Title: Faust (duh)._

_This chapter is a bit out of the blue, and the issue might not be breached again for some time, BUT it is necessary. Also, it's a solid time filler as we move to the end of 2006 and into 2007. Story ends in 2009. So expect a good dozen chapters at least left. Once I get around to them of course._

_Any questions, PM me _

_Also: Apologies to Luna del Cielo – I was going to update the story at about 2am this morning after work, but wine was provided (and I'm easily distracted by shiny Shiraz). Cheers for the continued dedication to the furthering of this storyline._

_-thesolitaryone-_


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